


Endless Skies

by lexicale



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Incest, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-29
Updated: 2012-09-29
Packaged: 2017-11-15 06:08:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 79,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lexicale/pseuds/lexicale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has never fit in amongst his people -- he's never been the perfect hunter and he doesn't really want to be involved in the war against the demons. And even if he did, he knows he can never measure up to his older brother, Dean: the perfect Celt, the perfect demon hunter, and the perfect son. While still struggling to find his place amongst his people, and struggling with what he feels for his brother, Sam comes across a downed demon. Their unlikely friendship begins to change everything for him and his family.</p><p>A crossover between SPN and 'How to Train Your Dragon.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [samdean_otp](http://samdean_otp.livejournal.com) minibang. Yes, a minibang. I was told to write 10k, so clearly the only sane course of action was to write 80k. Some things of note: I changed it from Vikings, as it is in the movie, to Celts, and moved the setting to ancient Scotland. I just couldn't imagine 'Dean, Sam and John' as Viking names. Having said that, I have made absolutely no attempts to have any of the characters speak in a realistic fashion for ancient Scotland. Everyone still speaks with an American accent and with modern lingo -- that's how it was in HTTYD(mostly), so I figured I'd just go with that :) You will notice plenty of anachronisms.
> 
> My sincere gratitude goes out to [heard_the_owl](http://heard_the_owl.livejournal.com), who beta'ed this giant beast. Without her help, it would have been a complete mess of commas. Also, to [mithborien](http://mithborien.livejournal.com), who made me some [thoroughly fantastic art](http://mithborien.livejournal.com/104479.html), like I cannot even begin *flap hands* You should most definitely go and check it out and leave her some love! Thank you for reading, and I hope everyone enjoys!
> 
>  

_My name is Sam and I live by the sea, as far north as a man can walk before the world vanishes into the ocean and doesn't come back out._

_The air here is always cold, even in the summer when the days are so long, but worse in the winter, when the sun barely manages to peek out from behind the water. The storms blow in off the sea, billowing up the crags and cliffs that protect us, and my father has always said that the land fights us, like a willful horse that we have to tame and tame again, every year. It certainly feels that way when we break through the frozen soil to plant in the spring, when we wake every morning before the dawn to haul the water in drought, when we dig channels till our hands bleed in flood. It feels that way when we wait through the winter, longer, it seems, every year, only each other and the fire for company, the wind strong enough to rattle the heavy oak of our doors._

_We fight the land for every inch, for every breath of life we take, and I can see the pride in the eyes of my people, the people of Alba, when the sun breaks the cage of winter, when we have come once more through the dark and have emerged on the other side._

_But I can't help but feel differently._

_My mother used to tell me stories when I was small, before the demons took her, about the lands to the south -- a place where the summer lasted longer, where the crops grew if you but whispered to them, where the world was like a mother herself, open arms and ready to embrace. A place where the earth was soft and green and full of life, full of promises just waiting to be realized._

_But most of all, a place where the demons didn't live anymore._

_A place where I wouldn't have to be afraid every day. Where I wouldn't have to wake up and wonder if today was the day I died, or if it was just the day I lost another piece of my family to the dark._

_When I look around, I see the pride in my father's face and I see my brother becoming a man, but all I want to do is run._

_I want to run away._

\-----

For almost as long as Sam could remember, the demons had plagued Lawrence.

The attacks were sometimes back to back and sometimes spread out over time -- but they were always devastating. Crops reduced to ash, homes toppled and buildings smashed, people crushed or burned or merely vanished, their whole community having to stop and rebuild, to try and save what they could and hope that, once more, they would be able to survive.

"They'll never bend our necks!" John's voice rang out, loud and strong against the chaos, and there was an echoing cry from the hunters, halberds and shields raised, the proud cries of scar-carrying men and women, no fear in their eyes. Their expressions were set, one face after the other out spread across the crowd and looking at them they almost blended together. Sam, though, only had eyes for one.

Dean thrust his arm up as well, not just support, not just handing out weapons or caring for the injured, but one of the rank, one of the many. Baring tooth and steel against the horde that threatened to wipe them out. Dean was nineteen and a man now, part of a brotherhood that had nothing to do with Sam, nothing to do with his _real_ brother, and Dean's voice rang out with the throng, as heavy and unyielding as stone.

Sam winced at the cry, feeling it jolt through his bones, and he wished he knew what it meant to be fearless.

In the midst of the battle cry came the boom of an explosion, hellfire impacting a house and lighting it up, the liquid fire spiting and hissing as it flew everywhere, digging into the ground like acid. There were yells, screams as people moved away, avoided what they could and Sam's eyes snapped to the sky, searching, but the demons were quick on their wings -- they couldn't be caught until they chose to land or until a lucky hunter hit them with a pike or spear.

"Bring them down!" John's voice resounded through the village, and the hunters moved, flicking weapons to bear as they prepared for a battle they had fought over and over again for the last ten years: holding back the monsters in the dark for just one more night. Sam's eyes were fixed on his brother, watching the way that familiar body, a body he'd grown up with, became something unfamiliar once more -- something deadly. A weapon that was part of this war that Sam wanted no part in.

He shivered at the thought and then jumped when his father's hand came down hard and heavy on his shoulder, clasping it tightly.

"Go guide the others down to the seawall. Keep them safe, son."

His words were said with pride and faith -- a confidence that Sam would live up to the position his brother had held before him, protecting the other villagers from attack while the hunters defended their home. Dean had complained about the task long and loud enough, about hiding away with the children, that he'd been allowed onto the battlefield a year earlier than expected, more as support than an active fighter at first. Four years ago Dean had past his Iron Gauntlet and earned his halberd, the weapon of their people, and become fully recognized as one of the hunters: those that killed demons.

Sam wished it was Dean leading the people down to the seawall. He wished that Dean wasn’t out in the cold night, ready and eager to put his life on the line. He didn't like the idea of turning his back and leaving the rest of his family behind, standing in the line of fire and in front of the vicious heat of the demons' fury. He wished Dean were coming with him, taking charge of all the things that Sam didn't know if he could do.

"Sam," John's voice jarred him, even as his father jostled his shoulder briefly. John's expression was stern. Expectant. And Sam knew better than to disappoint.

"Yes, sir," he responded, his voice lacking confidence, but John just smiled and nodded once, turning to join the others. Sam was left standing at the edge of the village, their crop fields behind him as well as the path down to the beach. He swallowed hard and glanced back, seeing the rest of his people -- those who weren't hunters and those who were too young to test the Iron Gauntlet, all looking to him now.

It didn't matter that he was just fourteen. He was a Winchester. The blood of their leaders, generations back, ran in his veins, and even if he didn't know what the hell he was doing, they believed that he did. Sam took in a long sweep of cold winter air and squared his thin shoulders. Dean had done this at his age. Dean had done it. Sam could too.

"Follow me," he called, hoping his weak voice carried more than he thought it did, gesturing with one wide wave of his arm, his other hand resting lightly on the hilt of his dagger. He watched the people stir, gathering their supplies. They were used to the ritual of this, used to the attacks, and used to their method of survival. It had worked for years before Sam could hold a sword and Sam supposed it would continue to work after he died -- which would be, he assumed, at the end of a demon's talons or the spit of its hellfire. He pursed his lips, jogging to move ahead of the crowd, to make it over to the cliffside.

The wind came up off the sea with a powerful intensity, battering at the cliffs with salty determination, stinging Sam's cheeks as he jogged down the thin path that lead down to the beaches. The leather of his boots scuffed against the gravel and he came to a stop when he heard the deep, screeching cry of a demon in the distance, sending a shiver down his spine. The sound recalled a flash of blonde hair and blood, and Sam felt that age old childhood fear creep in, never banished, no matter how familiar the ritual of the attacks became. He glanced back up the path, seeing the unearthly glow of the village at the cliff's edge, orange and bright, glowing like a foreign sun over the edge of the rock and into the black night. At the horizon, where the sea met the sky, the pale moon hung uncaring, watching without judgment or affection.

"C'mon," he said absently, murmured under his breath as he looked up the path at the group moving down. "Keep moving."

Sam stood at the bank of the path, the drop under his feet something he barely noticed -- he wasn't afraid of falling, wasn't afraid of the height. He didn't think of himself as a coward. He could stand brave in a fight against another man. Could win it, even, after all of the training his father and brother had given him. That didn't change what most of their people thought of him though. The little sissy that curled up and covered his head in the face of an attack. The boychild who cried and pissed himself when the demons came. They never said it to his face, but Sam still heard it. Heard it in whispers, saw it in their eyes when they looked at him.

The shame of the Winchester family.

Behind him the people walked past, making their way downwards, and Sam watched them while he watched the skies, knowing his duty even if the darkness threatened to swallow him up, and he glanced towards the end of the line, trying to count how many people left to go. Further down, the people were navigating the unlit trail -- any fires or torches would alert the demons to their presence -- the leaders having to feel their way down and trust the moonlight.

The end of the group was coming up and Sam readied himself to bring up the rear, to make sure no child ended up dragging behind, to ensure that everyone got safely to the base of the cliffs, when another demon scream rent the air. It wasn't distant though. It was loud, shockingly loud, enough to send Sam stumbling into the rock face and slam his hands over his ears, the sound shattering whatever stillness remained of the night. His eyes were clenched shut, but he felt the rhythmic beat of wind against his face and his mind whispered _'Wings'_ before his heart rate tripled, jolting a harsh and desperate panic in him.

There was yelling all around him, people hurrying down the path and a few of them trying to knock others out of the way, bodies skirting dangerously close to the edge. Sam's eyes flew open and he saw the demon haloed by the moon, dark figure cut against the silver white, and its jaw stretched monstrously wide. It's wings were flapping in short bursts, slowing down as it came towards the cliff, its claws reaching out to steady itself against the path.

Sam couldn't breathe.

He hadn't been this close to a demon since that day ten years ago, and the clamor between his ears was deafening. Somewhere, in the back of his head, he could hear a voice that sounded suspiciously like Dean berating him, telling him to get his damn weapon to bear, to fight for and defend his people, to be a damned Winchester, but Sam was caught, his eyes wide as the spikes on the demon's wings hooked viciously into the mountain rock with hideous strength. It stretched its neck out, snapping at a villager(the baker, Sam's useless mind supplied, without being consulted) as he went hurrying past. Barely missing his prey, the demon shifted its focus, dark eyes finally coming to land on the prostrate boy in front of it.

A delicious, helpless meal.

Sam swallowed and grabbed for his dagger, the sheath hanging from his belt, but his hands were shaking too hard as he tried to draw it, shuddering and dropping it with a metallic clang against the rocks, and a warm puff of air flooded out of the demon's mouth over him. Like it was _laughing_ at him, and Sam turned his head away, eyes clenching shut, not wanting to see. Sam couldn't help but wonder, morbidly, what they'd say when the fight was over, how they'd break the news that the useless Winchester, the unnecessary son, had died. Not fighting a demon, but laying pathetic and prone beneath it.

He imagined his father rubbing his brow, shaking his head at the shame of such a son. He imagined the other hunters admitting it was a good riddance -- after all, the village only needed one heir, and Dean was the golden child, an honored warrior even before he killed his first demon.

Dean.

Sam wondered what his brother would think. Of all the people in the world, Dean was the only one who Sam thought might mourn him, even if only for a day. Dean, who'd always been so determined to shape Sam into the man that their father had expected. Dean, who'd failed at that again and again, but always sighed and said _'S'alright, Sammy. You'll get it one day.'_

Dean, who Sam loved more than any other person across all of Alba. More than anyone in the world.

The demon's head darted forward, jaws spreading and saliva strings snapping as it came to crush him, to skewer him on its teeth, and Sam put his arms up to guard his face, as if that would make a difference, his last thought exasperation that _this_ was how he was going to go.

Not fighting with honor, but cowering on the side of a cliff face, surrounded by children and the infirm. A coward's death.

Sam's eyes snapped open when there was a scuffle against the rocks, and there was a wet _thwack!_ just before the demon made a strange, garbled noise. He turned his head, curiosity warring with terror -- there was a figure in a smock standing over him, a sword thrust up through the underside of the demon's jaw, straight through into its skull. The demon's eyes were tinged with a thin veil of yellow that seemed to fade as they rolled back, half-lidded as it breathed, still alive, even if briefly, and its claws shifted awkwardly, scratching against the stone. The girl lifted her foot, pressing it to the demon's chest and pushing, giving a loud grunt as she tugged the sword out, the demon's huge body falling back into the darkness below them.

The girl turned around and Sam saw Jo's face, barely illuminated, her messy hair tied back and her chest rising and falling with heaving breathing.

"You okay?" she asked, demon blood splattered on her blade and on her dress, and Sam stared up at her, the pall of certain death still hanging over him. Jo turned to check the skies again, then thrust out a hand to him.

"C'mon," she urged, voice hushed and urgent. "The others are already down at the beach. We have to get to the seawall, in case any other demons heard that."

Sam swallowed hard, remembering that the time to fear hadn't passed quite yet, and he reached up, letting her tug him to his feet, the quiver and shake left over in his body almost making him tip forward and he gripped her arm embarrassingly. She didn't say anything though, just steadied him, and Sam hung on.

"They're all--" Sam tried, started, afraid but unwilling to leave anyone behind. "Everyone made it down?"

"Yeah," Jo nodded. "We made it down. C'mon..."

She tugged at him, and Sam wasn't certain how to walk anymore, though it seemed his feet remembered it in a feeble fashion, the two of them rushing down the path and far away from the clamor and clang of battle.

\-----

The seawall lay at the base of the cliffs where the rocks let up to a wide alcove -- a daunting wall of hard rock, standing obstinate against the angry crash of the waves. Hidden away amongst the sharp stones and sea spray were several small crags and holes and one large cave, safe from the demons and their endless attacks.

Sam had asked, when he was child, why they didn't just build their homes into the seawall, where they wouldn't have to worry about constant destruction and terror. His father had just frowned at him, as if Sam were missing some essential piece, lacking in a way that he shouldn't be. Sam didn't understand -- couldn't -- the drive his people had to fight the demons. To hunt them. More than anything, he just wanted to leave this place, to go somewhere safe and sheltered, somewhere where he didn't have to be afraid all the time.

Not that such a place existed. Even if he could get away from the demons, he knew his father and brother would never go. They'd see leaving as defeat, as their ancestors had before them when the ice and cold had threatened to end them. They'd dug their feet into the land, their land, and they'd be damned if they ever conceded it to the demon hordes. Even if Sam did manage to get away, to go somewhere else, he'd always worry about his family, wondering what kind of early grave they'd ended up in. It wasn't like hunters lived long. John was nearing forty, nearly old age for a hunter, and his hide was peppered with scars and scabs and old wounds.

John would never lay down his arms and take his well deserved rest. To the Celts, that was admitting defeat. Sam's father was waiting for the day a demon would kill him in combat, defending the land of their people.

Sam didn't know what was worse: that that was the fate awaiting the last two members of his family, the people he loved and cared about, or that that was the fate he was expected to want for himself.

Inside the barrier of the seawall, the other villagers were setting up, going through the common rituals that they were accustomed to: hiding away the few precious possessions they'd managed to keep over the years, setting out the waterskeins, moving rocks to reveal hidden stashes of salted meat and stale bread. The attacks usually only lasted one night, the demons scattered by the sun, but it never hurt to be prepared. Other than some food and water, though, the seawall provided little comfort. No one had ever bothered to invest any work or effort in making the cave more habitable and it was just another reminder that Sam didn't think like a Celt, like a hunter.

"You alright?" Jo asked, the question less immediate than it had been up on the path -- there it had meant 'can you walk?', here it meant 'do you have any injuries?'

"I'm fine," Sam replied quickly. "Just a few scratches."

She tutted but didn't say anything else, moving deeper into the caves. When she found a rock to settle on, she propped one knee up, using her skirt to clean the blood off of her sword. Sam remembered with a brief curse that he hadn't even bothered to pick up his dagger, having left it on the path. With any luck he'd find it in the morning after the demons had fled.

"Seems like you're already half ready for your Gauntlet," Sam commented, sitting down on the other side of the rock from her, trying for a half smile as his body tried to convince itself that it was safe. His hands gripped the stone, letting it steady him. Jo had always been kinder than most, a friend from his childhood, but that didn't mean she necessarily thought any different. He didn't know how she _would,_ having seen him frightened and small in front of the enemy of their people -- the beast he was trained and meant to fight.

"Maybe," she responded, Sam unable to see her face but hearing the quirk of her lips in her speech. "I mean, I've been working really hard..."

"Shows." He glanced at the floor of the cave, hearing the absent sounds of people milling around, digging in for the night and to wait it out. There was a subtle clang as the sword was set down on the rock and Jo half turned to look over her shoulder at him.

"You're a good fighter, you know," she mentioned, almost casually. Sam winced a little because here it came -- the same old lecture, the same old questions. He could fight a man and win, could take down a buck in motion at seventy paces, but faced with a demon he froze up. Everything in him turned off until even the little voice chanting _run run run run_ went silent and there was only the numb terror.

"You should train the others," Jo continued, but her words caught Sam off-guard, not at all expecting them. He turned to look at her, brow furrowed.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... Well. What I just said. You should train the other kids. They need a teacher and the hunters are busy enough with their own work, looking after the weapons and setting the traps... You're a _good_ fighter. And a good teacher too. I don't see why you couldn't do that. Or," she paused, tipping her head to the side slightly. "Or I guess you could look after the wounded and teach others how to do that."

"Jo," Sam started, shaking his head for no particular reason. "I still don't get--"

"You're not _stupid,_ Sam." She rolled her eyes at him. "You know what I'm saying. You have to have thought about it before."

"Not really..."

"Really? You never considered doing something else?"

"That option was never really on the table." Sam shrugged and straightened himself out, looking over at the black rock wall of the cave. Outside he could hear the constant crash of the sea. "I'm a Winchester, even if I'm not the heir. It's my job to hunt the demons. It's my _destiny_ to hunt the demons."

The words came out slow and rote, words said to him and by him over and over again, a chant burned into his memory. He'd known, always, ever since he was small, what his place was. He was the second son. He was to uphold their family's honor, their family's legacy, but he wasn't the heir.

"But you're not any good at it," Jo replied bluntly, either unaware of Sam's discomfort or uncaring of it. Sam worked to hide a wince but the exasperated tone of Jo's voice when she continued implied that he hadn't hidden it well. "I'm not saying you're not good at _anything._ You're just not good at _this._ And why waste time and effort trying to be good at something you're not when you could be using it on something you are good at?"

Sam glanced at her again.

"Jo, what _else_ would I do?"

"Teach, just like I said. Or treat the wounded. Or, I don't know, do you like baking? Sewing? _Something._ It's not like we only hunt demons. If we did, we'd die anyways, Sam. People still have to harvest the crops and make the clothes and smith the armor and weapons... You don't have to keep doing this." Her expression shifted, eyes sliding away as hesitance crept in, fingers drumming lightly against the rock. "After what happened to you--" She cut off, shrugging. "It's not fair that they ask you to do this."

Sam grunted and frowned, fingers curling a little in agitation. He was used to people not mentioning it. He was used to people dodging his father's ire.

"What's not _fair_ about it, Jo? We hunt demons. That's what we _do._ That's what our _people_ do. How is it fair that I get a free pass?"

"It wouldn't be _free._ You'd still be doing your fair share!" She looked back at him, face firming. "Besides, how is it better that you waste your time being a shit demon hunter instead of doing something you're actually _good_ at?"

Sam got up quickly, and Jo's anger and determination dropped away with immediate realization, but it was too late to take the words back.

"Thanks for saving me, Jo," he ground out, not caring if she was completely right or not. His father and brother wanted this for him. His family was looking to him to live up to their name and he couldn't just turn his head and let them down, no matter how scared he was. "I'm going to go and check on the others."

"Sam, wait!" she exclaimed, scrambling up from where she was sitting, leaving her sword behind. "I didn't mean--"

"Just leave me alone!" he yelled back, moving deeper into the darkened cavern, the sting of fear wiped out by anger, and he welcomed that, settled into it.

He was going to get better, one day. He was sure of it.

He _had_ to get better.

He was a Winchester -- it was in his blood.


	2. Endless Skies

Lawrence sat calmly at the edge of the cliff, overlooking the vast flat of the sea, the wind coming off the moors hitting hard against the wind coming off of the ocean, the scent of thistles and salt mixing. The sound of hollow air whistling was a constant tune, a backdrop to their lives that Sam had grown up hearing, the only sound more familiar to him than demon scream.

Someone, at some point in time, had decided to stubbornly build their home there at the edge, planting their feet and saying 'this is it. This is mine,' and ever since, the Celts had refused to budge. The town had grown there like moss on the rocks, building after building, with the planting land further in, away from the toxic salt of the sea. Their home wasn't large, not in comparison to the cities of the south or even the few towns they traded with to the east, but they were still there. Still clinging to the edge after all this time.

And for as long as their people had lived there, the demons had lived there too.

No one knew where they had come from or why. They had simply always been there, as constant and unchanging as the cliffs and just as much a part of the people's lives.

But it was only eleven years ago that the attacks had started and the uneasy truce, the sharing of the land that had existed between demons and man for untold generations, vanished like so much smoke and just as easily forgotten. Sam didn't remember much about the time before, from when he was a small child and he didn't have to fear the night or his own death with such regularity. He had been four when the attacks had started. Four, when his mother had died and the war between their peoples had started.

But nights of burning hellfire and the piercing shriek of demons screams hadn't been enough to move the Celts from the sea, from _their_ cliffs. The people of Lawrence faced every day as a new challenge. A new chance to prove that no force on earth could move them.

As for the Winchesters, Sam's family, his father's family, had led their village for several generations, one unto the next, and John Winchester was perhaps the most stubborn of all the Celts, halberd in hand and firm brow set against the rising storm on the horizon. And not too far behind him, shoulders as tense, eyes as unwavering, was the next leader of their people: Sam's older brother, the perfect hunter, the perfect Celt. The perfect son.

It wasn't as if Sam didn't have any virtues. He was a good fighter, spry on his feet and quick thinking. In a sparring match, he was difficult to defeat, which was one of the few things that kept people from voicing their objections to his face. He knew how to read, something that only a handful of his clansmen knew how to do, and was a hard worker besides. He had bandaged and burned shut his fair share of wounds over the years and could work with his hands covered with blood without so much as a flinch.

He _knew_ that he had virtues.

It was just when he was measured up by Celt-standards, measured up against his brother, he was always found wanting.

Dean was tall and strong and had grown up at the hunters' feet, following them and listening to their stories. When he was nine, they taught him how to nock and fire a bow to great accuracy. When he was eleven, they taught him how to wield a sword and how to throw a pike to bring down a skyward demon. When he was fifteen, he reached his majority and ran the Iron Gauntlet, proving himself to his family, his village and his ancestors and earning his halberd -- the weapon that only hunters carried, the weapon that was specific to each hunter and crafted just for them.

Now, at nineteen, he was considered one of the best, even at his young age. He wasn't as good as their father, or as good as Caleb, and he wasn't even as good as Bobby had been before he lost his hand, but it was thought that he would reach their level with time and experience -- the only thing he had left to earn.

Dean was the perfect son, fast and brave, good with his weapons and even better with women, but most of all he harbored the powerful vengeance and anger that every hunter needed to carry into battle with them. Dean had never cowered before a demon, dropped his weapon and had to wait for someone else to save him.

Dean had never considered not taking his Gauntlet.

But by the next spring, when Sam was to turn fifteen, he found himself considering just that. More of the villagers were hunters than not, but that didn't mean there weren't other people, just as Jo had said. It was acceptable for people to choose to go into a different profession, though most _did_ try to pass the Gauntlet when they were fifteen just to prove they were grown. And those that did so with no intention of becoming a hunter usually failed with jovial expectation, knowing they weren't cut out for it, but still an adult in the eyes of the people, a person who was no longer a child, but someone to be given respect. Someone who was one of them all.

For Sam, not taking the Gauntlet had never been an option. Not _succeeding_ the Gauntlet had never been an option.

He was a Winchester -- John Winchester's son. He was always intended to be a hunter.

Regardless of whether or not he wanted to be, it seemed.

When May the second dawned, a bright, clear day, and Dean came to kick him awake with a shit-eating grin, looking excited, like Sam risking life and limb to go through some kind of stupid _test_ was a good thing, Sam got up and looked out his window at the sky, and knew, without a doubt, that he wasn't going to take his Gauntlet.

Jo had been right, all those months ago. He could waste his life as a terrible hunter, or spend it doing something he was actually _good_ at, contribute to his people in a greater and more meaningful way.

And now the only problem was convincing his family of that.

He descended from the loft he slept in, walking steadily down the stairs into the main room at the base. His father and brother were waiting over by the fireplace, drinking broth from a heavy iron pot over the fire, and Sam's resolve almost cracked when his father turned to him with a proud grin on his face, offering a steaming mug out.

"Thanks," Sam muttered, feeling lower than low, and sipped the drink, the broth burning his lips. He winced a little, but then the hot, salty brew went down his gullet and he let it warm him from the inside out, guarding him against the early morning chill. He hummed a little to himself and took a longer drink.

"So, excited about today, Sammy?" his father asked, settling down with a grunt into his worn old chair, relaxing back against it.

"Um," Sam started.

"I remember your brother was so eager he almost tripped over his damned feet."

 _"Dad,"_ Dean groaned, rising from his crouch by the low burning embers of the fire.

"Well, you were. And you would have forgotten your weapon too, if I hadn't shoved it into your hands."

"It was a big day!" Dean defended. "I was...practicing. In my head."

"Sure you were," John replied with an amiable smile, the teasing between them an easy banter that Sam had never managed to achieve -- and couldn't help but envy a little. "You'd best drink up, Sammy. You'll want to be out there clear headed and ready to go, and going on an empty stomach is not a good idea."

"Same can be said for a full stomach, too," Dean said, as if it were a sage pearl of wisdom. "Remember when Ash took his? Bits of sausage and black pudding all over the place."

Sam made a face and Dean grinned widely, having apparently achieved the reaction he'd been going for.

Sam looked down at his broth, not able to keep up under the expressions of both his remaining family members. Not able to take the fact that they were happy for him. Excited about this. It was so rare for this to happen, and it was everything Sam wanted. And he was about to ruin it.

"I'm...not going to run my Gauntlet."

In his hands, his broth moved only slightly, light sliding along the golden surface and following the patterns where it bumped up against the sides of the mug. He didn't look up, not right away. He didn't want to see it -- he knew exactly what the progression would be: that glowing pride, then, slowly, incomprehension. It would take a few seconds for the shock to hit, then, inevitably, the outrage.

Sam just waited, looking down at the mug clasped between his two palms, waited for it to hit that point and become verbal. It took a little less time than he'd originally estimated.

"What?" It was his father's voice. Not mad, yet. Too confused for that, as if Sam had suddenly set up talking in tongues and the things he was saying didn't make any sense.

"I'm not going to run the Gauntlet today."

"If you don't think you're prepared," Dean supplied, hope in his voice, "we can put it off for a bit. I mean...that's not a problem. I can help you train some more. Right, Dad? Nothing wrong with wanting to get things right."

Sam made a sound of frustration.

 _"No._ I mean that I'm not going to run the Gauntlet. At all. Ever."

"And why the hell not?" his father growled, and there it was. The anger Sam had been expecting. He tried to steel himself, though it felt foolish in front of two fully trained warriors, both of them greater than him in height and weight.

Not that that mattered. It wouldn't come to a physical fight. It never did with them. They always dueled with words, which could be so much sharper, sink so much deeper.

"Because," Sam started, and finally looked up, trying to firm his expression, to show his determination. "I'm no good as a hunter. You both _know_ I'm no good as a hunter. I could go out there today and run my Gauntlet and fail, and settle into my life, or I could just _not._ What's the point of risking hurting myself, or worse, just to prove something that we all already know is true? I'm never going to be a hunter. Why go through this archaic ritual just to prove that?"

"That's what this is about?" John got up from his chair. "You're _afraid?_ You're too afraid of getting hurt to do even this? To follow in the ways of our people?"

Sam made a sound of disgust, wishing, for once, that someone could actually listen to the words coming out of his mouth and understand them.

"I'm not afraid. That's not what this is about. This is about...actually thinking things through. About not just doing what everyone else does because they think they have to. About not doing what you want me to do just because you want it. I _know_ I'm a disappointment to you, but I don't _have_ to be. It's not like I'm useless. If you expect an apple to be a hammer, you'll always find it wanting, but if you expect that apple to be an apple... And I can be good. I can be a good...apple." And okay, this analogy was falling apart. "I'm good at caring for the wounded. I'm good at plotting the fields. I'm good at a lot of things. And I'm sure I could apprentice with someone. Maybe with the baker or with one of the fishermen."

"Fishermen? Sam, what the hell?" Dean asked, his expression one of complete bafflement.

"It doesn't have to be _that,_ specifically. I'm saying...I'm-- Someone said to me, awhile ago, that I could spend my life being a terrible hunter or I could actually be something I'm _good at._ And wouldn't that be better for everyone?" Sam offered something that was trying to be a hopeful smile. "I mean, wouldn't it be better for our people to have me doing something I'm good at? Contributing to them instead of only doing a half assed job at being a hunter?"

"Or you could get your act together and actually do your job _properly,"_ John said, the expression on his face one that booked no argument. "This is just an excuse for you to get out of doing what you feel is below you. Well, it's _not._ Hunting demons has been what we've done for years, Sam, since they took your mother from us, and before that we hunted anything that threatened our people, hunted the land for food. It's what our family has done for generations."

"But that's not a good _reason_ for me to just--" But Sam didn't get too far before John was striding forward, up into his space.

"A good reason? How about the fact that those things _killed_ your _mother?_ Does that mean anything to you?"

"Of _course_ it does--"

"It doesn't seem that way to me. You're telling me that you're not going to run your Gauntlet, not going to earn your halberd. Not going to work to fight the things that _kill_ people, Sam. People's lives depend on this and you want to just walk away."

"Hunters still need people to get food for them, Dad! They still need someone to burn their wounds shut and make their weapons. Why can't I do that? I can still help! I can still help fight by making sure that the hunters have the things they need to _keep_ fighting."

"It's a coward's way out, Sam, and I'll not have it. You have a responsibility to our people, to our family, and to your _mother_ to do this, and by the gods I'll see you to the testing grounds if I have to haul you there myself."

Sam gawked at him, feeling anger rush hot through him at that, and Dean must have seen it, too used to Sam and John's fights, because he was suddenly over next to both of them, holding up his hands.

"Look. We can work this out. Seriously -- we don't need to do this today. So Sam needs a little more time to sort his head out--"

"I don't need to sort my head out, Dean!" Sam snapped, unable to take it anymore. He flung his mug at the fireplace, hearing the ceramic hit against stone and hot broth hiss and spit as it spilled over the coals, making them burn orange. "I'm not _crazy,_ you know. You two are the ones that are so eager to run out and put yourself in front of _fire breathing monsters._ Have either of you ever even considered that _you're_ the crazy ones in this family? Why'm I so nuts just because I don't want to do that? Or have both of you forgotten that I was the one that saw that thing tear her apart?!"

By the end he was yelling, and he knew he was going too far, knew it when he heard the hiss of inhaled breath come from Dean, but he couldn't stop, too much pent up and not enough let out, and the words flew out like birds that had been too long caged. His father's reaction was instantaneous. A hand lashed out, grabbing Sam's collar and hauling him in.

John didn't raise a hand to strike him, wouldn't do that, but the two of them stared at each other, John's eyes full of anger and pain, and Sam doing everything he could to remain strong, to not give in to the stupid, childish impulse to do anything, anything at all, to make his father proud of him. To have his father look at him with love instead of disappointment.

He knew he could give in and do whatever it was that his father wanted him to, become the hollow man he'd always known he'd end up being, trying uncomfortably to fit himself, awkward and square, into that round mold expected for him. But what was the point of that? Be miserable, just so his dad wouldn't hate him? It was a fool's errand.

He would never be as good as Dean. He knew that much. He'd never be good enough.

He reached up, pulling at his father's wrist until he released him, and Sam stepped back as steadily as he could. His jaw was tense as he swallowed, seeing both his father and Dean standing there, staring at him.

"If you aren't going to run your Gauntlet..." his father started, sounding almost out of breath, like he was too emotional to talk, and that scared Sam. Scared him to see his unbreakable father so obviously effected. But it wouldn't do anyone any good if Sam gave in just to make his father happy. "If you want to turn your back on this family, then you should see it through."

Sam's brow furrowed, confused.

"Go on. Don't do it half-assed. You're turning your back on everything we believe in, everything we are, you might as well go all the way." His father crossed his arms over his chest, looking at Sam like a challenge, and that was exactly what it was.

If Sam backed down now, he would be kow towing to his father's will for the rest of his life. And John Winchester was a good man, a strong man, and a man who loved his family -- none of those things Sam questioned. But John Winchester also had the annoying habit of always assuming everyone would obey him, and like any good leader, so easily breezed over the voices of others, and Sam knew he could give into that. Fall in line and be that son. Do his best to be like Dean.

But he didn't want to be Dean. He loved his brother, more than he should, but Sam wanted to be like _Sam,_ and he saw it crystal clear in front of him now: if he stayed, he never would be Sam.

Jo had been right, even if her words hadn't been. It wasn't about Sam giving up being an imperfect hunter to become a better something else. It was about Sam giving up being an imperfect Dean to become a better him, and he couldn't give into the challenge or he'd never forgive himself.

He swallowed hard, hating it, hating that he had to do this, but turned around, walking towards the door, feeling a million eyes set firmly on his back.

Sam's hand was just touching the latch when his father's voice cut through.

"If you walk out that door, don't you ever come back."

Sam froze, indecision burning in his veins regardless of his conviction.

His first instinct was to turn, despite himself, because there was no way in hell he wanted to leave his family. Not forever, anyways. They were all he had left, and as much as he and his father fought, it didn't mean he didn't love the man. He was the only parent Sam had.

And no one could ever have accused Sam of not loving his brother enough. Only the opposite.

His hand clutched on the latch and he wanted to turn around and say 'okay'. To give in like he always inevitably did because John expected him to. Expected this bluff not to be called and everything to fall back in order like it should.

And even if it wasn't a bluff, Sam knew he wasn't going to give in. Stubbornness ran in his people, in his bloodline. If he turned around and gave in, if he stayed here, he would give up his life, any hope he had of dreams, and become someone he didn't want to be. He would fall into an early grave and, if he was lucky, they would remember him for five minutes before the next demon attack came and the time for mourning had passed.

And Sam couldn't believe that he was worth that little.

So he opened the door without another word and stepped out into the clear blue dawn.

When the door shut behind him, he stopped, half a heartbeat spared in hope that someone would come, that the door would open and his father would be there, saying it was a mistake, that he hadn't meant it. That Dean would be there, saying something like how they'd work through it, that things would be okay. That he'd talk to their dad and smooth things over and it wasn't as bad at it felt.

But the wood of the door stayed silent and still, an impenetrable barrier between the life Sam _could_ have and the life Sam _wanted_ to have. He stared at it, daring it to move, daring it to open, for there to be any sign that it didn't have to be a choice between his family and his future, but the door stayed shut and the house stayed silent.

And no reprieve was given.

\-----

At first, for no good reason, Sam ended up down at the seawall, cracking open the hole where he'd hidden the few books his mother had left him, keeping them safe from the demon attacks. He pulled out the one his mother had written in and he traced the smooth feeling of the ink under his fingers, the sweep of her writing, and had fallen asleep down there, curled up in the sand.

It was too damned cold, though, the rock walls offering no real protection and the ocean wind blowing icy and fierce. He didn't get much sleep, unable to keep from waking up again and again, searching for blankets that weren't there, and by the morning he had to admit that he needed a better plan.

The next day he went back up to the village, knowing, logically, that people weren't all staring at him, that they didn't know everything that had happened, and they couldn't all be judging him. It still felt like they were, though, and Sam kept his eyes forward and down to avoid making eye contact. Unfortunately, it also made it easier for him to feel like everyone was looking from the corners of his eyes, and he hustled as best he could to the far end of town, where the stables were.

He could tell that the stablemaster was curious when he asked to sleep in the hay loft and she poked and prodded trying to get information. Sam knew it couldn't have escaped everyone's notice that he hadn't run his Gauntlet yesterday, but he fielded the questions as best he could, really not wanting to get into it. He was sure it would be the village gossip soon enough and he really didn't want his dad or Dean thinking he'd fed angry words into the rumor mill.

Sam didn't hold out a whole lot of hope for a reconciliation, but he knew that it would be downright impossible if his family thought he was spreading nasty things about them.

For the next week, he slept in the hay loft with a couple of blankets, the hay soft, if prickly, and good enough to keep out the worst of the cold at night. He paid the stablemaster back by mucking the stalls, a chore he was more than used to from growing up, and he didn't mind. He liked time with the horses anyways -- they made sense to him in a way that humans rarely did.

Dean only came by once -- at the end of the week, and with the way it went, Sam couldn't really blame him for not coming back.

"You're being an asshole," came the first straight out insult, after about fifteen minutes of awkward silences and even more awkward small talk about nothing at all.

Sam couldn't exactly plot how they'd gone from that to yelling, but it had been pretty quick and one thing led to another. It always did with them.

 _"I'm_ being an asshole? _I_ never wanted to get disowned! _He's_ the one that kicked me out!"

"You walked out the door!"

"I just wanted to have some kind of say in my future! I didn't want to leave my family."

"Yeah, but you still walked out the door, even after you knew that that was on the table."

"What were my choices, Dean?" Sam thrust his hands out to either side. "Stick around and try and be whatever it is Dad wants me to be, no matter how I feel about it, or leave and try to live my life!"

"Don't be so goddamned dramatic," Dean scoffed. "Dad wasn't robbing you of your _life--"_

"He might as well have been! You think I'm going to make it long as a hunter? Huh? Hell, I'm terrified every time they attack, have been since I was a kid. Terrified I'm gonna die or that you or Dad aren't going to come back."

Dean seemed to stumble a little at that, the anger in his face softening, and Sam continued.

"Every time we had to go down to the seawall I'd spend the whole night thinking I was going to lose another member of my family. And it only got worse when you weren't down there with me, but instead up there with the fools and idiots with their spears, looking to get eaten! And you're good at it, too! I'm scared enough of losing one of you two, but you guys at least know what you're doing. I'm a goddamned liability out there and everyone but Dad seems to know it."

"You could get better at it, if you just _tried--"_

"Right. I can just _try harder_ not to be fucking terrified every time I see a demon. Thanks, Dean, I never thought of that before." He saw whatever softness there was on Dean's face disappear at the sarcasm, but Sam didn't stop talking. "I've always enjoyed being frozen in terror, unable to save myself. Do you really think I'll last even ten minutes? You put me in the middle of that, Dean, and I'm going to die. I'm going to freeze up and I'm going to die."

"You're not a kid anymore, Sam!" Dean retorted hotly. "You have to grow up and get over this at some point."

Sam laughed, but it wasn't funny. It was a laugh of complete shock, like someone had just told him to grow up and get over watching his mother die. Which, oh yeah, someone _just did._

"Fuck you, Dean. Just...fuck you."

"Fine!" Dean threw his hands up. "You want to be like this, then be like this. Just remember that it was your decision, Sammy. Don't blame this on us."

With that, Dean turned and stalked away, and Sam called out after him, pathetic but still needing to get in the last word.

"Some decision, Dean!" he yelled, standing there panting, but Dean didn't turn back around, just strode away, the anger visible in his form. And the minute, the second, that Dean stepped out of the shadow of the stable and into the sun, Sam regretted everything.

It couldn't have gone any other way, but he still regretted it.

He still wanted to run after his brother and tell him that it would be okay, somehow. Because Sam had always been running after his brother in one way or another.

He didn't know when that morphed from something okay into something definitely _not_ okay. Maybe when they were still kids, when Sam still had his mom and Dean wasn't so distant, and the two of them were always together. It hadn't been the same since she died, but that didn't mean that Sam didn't still feel that fervent desire to be seen in his brother's eyes. To have Dean grin at him and slap him on the back and call him 'brother.' And maybe call him something else as well. To be as inseparable as they were as children, and maybe more so.

They weren't so inseparable anymore.

Sam wasn't quite certain if the hot feeling in his chest was anger or heartbreak, or some vile mixture of the two, but he mucked the stalls with a particularly violent vigor for the rest of the day. When he bedded down over the stable for the night, listening to the horses pawing absently at the ground or whickering to each other in quiet conversation, sleep eluded him. He stared out into the darkness, hay scratching at his skin, and he wondered what he was going to do with himself now. What kind of man he was going to be if he wasn't going to be the man that his father wanted him to be.

A part of him wanted to succeed for vengeance, to prove himself somehow, but that wasn't good for anyone. He'd walked out that door to become a man that didn't live based on his father's decisions, and doing this in retaliation would be just as much based around his father as listening would have been. Unfortunately, that still didn't leave him with much.

He didn't know who he wanted to be.

He'd always been destined to be a hunter, to follow his family's line, and that had never been questioned until a few months ago. And those months had been more devoted to trying to figure out if he could do anything else, less about what that anything else could be. Now here he was, sleeping over a set of stalls, no home and no family to speak of, and no clear idea of anything at all much less what he wanted to be.

It seemed so simple at first -- to merely select a profession, to take on a trade. But it wasn't that. It was finding a place for himself, a place in the world that was Sam shaped and Sam sized and had room for him in a way that his father's house hadn't.

But the night provided him no answers, holding everything to itself and keeping it secret, swept under shadows and hidden away, holding off sleep in what could only be described as spite.

It was only when he thought again of Dean, of his brother looking at him and then letting him go, that Sam cried at all.

He wished, more than anything in the world, that he could be whatever it was his family wanted. That he could be the Sam they needed, the Sam they'd lost eleven years ago, and not some lost and scared little boy sleeping alone in a hay loft with no where to call home.

\-----

_They were down by the pond, on the edge of the water with the autumn breeze blowing strong and true, an unwavering call south, headed by the birds and the forest creatures and all the world except the people of Lawrence. Sam's mother stood on the bank, her arms wrapped around herself, pulling her blanket tight around her slim frame. The wind was stirring her hair to fly and Sam was shivering but he didn't care._

_He and Dean were knee deep in the pond, their shoes off and their breeches rolled up to their knees and they were chasing frogs. The slimy things were quick and wily, still as stone until one of the boys got close, and then they were a blur of movement, a powerful jump too fast to keep up with. Dean was better at waiting. Sam always jumped forward too soon and lost his prey._

_"Gotta be more quiet, Sammy," Dean advised sagely when Sam was pouting, his most recent attempt at a small frog thwarted._

_"I_ am _quiet," he complained, having been so certain that he'd been silent, but Dean just shook his head._

 _Sam pouted. He knew the expression on Dean's face:_ Little babies don't know anything.

_"Boys," their mother said, seeing a potential fight brewing. The two of them looked up at her and Sam wondered how she always knew just when he was about to say something he shouldn't. It was like she could read his mind._

_She let them play for a few more minutes before the wind picked up and howled as it flowed over the fields and through the trees, the sun beginning to sink in the sky._

_"Come now, before you catch your death," she said, hurrying them along. "Don't splash! You're wet enough as it is."_

_The two of them crawled out of the chilly water, scrambling up the bank and to either side of their mother, who'd settled down and opened both arms, wrapping her blanket around them and pulling them close. Sam was shivering but smiling, not even thinking before putting his pond slimy hands against her dress._

_She rubbed their shoulders, protecting them from the burn of a coming winter._

_"Man, it's cold," Dean mumbled, and Sam could feel him burrowing in on the other side of their mother. Sam felt his brother's frigid fingers brush against his own, and Dean started to pull back before Sam snatched his hand, holding it in his own. On the other side of their mother's waist he saw his brother smile like the two of them were sharing a secret._

_"Did it ever get this cold where you come from, Mom?" Sam glanced up at her, always curious about his mother's distant origin. The furthest outside of the village he'd ever been was out onto the fields or down to the docks at the seawall. His mother, though, had come from the south, from far away, appearing mysterious and alone one day, his father had put it. A beautiful young woman all alone with no past, just a name -- Mary._

_"Sometimes..." his mother mused, tipping her head to the side in consideration. "It did get very cold in the winter. Not as cold as here, but it still snowed. We used to all bundle up together in my bedroom, me and the other girls." She pulled them in even closer, conspiratorially, as if demonstrating. "And gather around the fireplace. We would drink hot cider or eat a warm meat pie and tell stories to keep the cold at bay."_

_"That sounds good," Sam mumbled to himself, humming in pleasure as he imagined the hot juices of the meat soaking into the pastry and going down his throat and into his belly, warming him from the inside out._

_"We would talk about the summer... About those few months where it got warm, and the sun glowed down on us. We would just bask in it." Her voice was so emphatic, so strongly convinced, that Sam could almost feel the sun on him, despite the cloudy skies and bitter wind. "We would soak it into us, you see. Soak it in so deep that it went into our bones, and in the winter, when it was coldest and we couldn't find the sun, the warmth would come out from our joints and keep us going, remembering that the snow would break and spring out come again."_

_"It sounds_ awesome _there," Dean said, looking up at their mother who smiled at him in response._

_"Can we go and visit?" Sam asked eagerly, grinning with excitement._

_His mother's smile faded, brow furrowing and her lips pressed together like she didn't even know where to begin. There was that little spark of sadness that Sam saw in her from time to time and he could see that she was trying to come up with an answer when there was a sudden sound from the other side of the pond, a_ whoosh-whoosh-whoosh _unlike anything Sam had heard before, and he couldn't even come up with something to compare it to._

_His head snapped forward and he gasped, hands going tight against his mother when he saw a large, tan creature covered in scales and barnacles, the two huge wings coming out of its back slowing their beats as it landed on the other side of the pond from them, all four of its massive claws coming to rest on the ground._

_A demon._

_Sam had seen them before from far away, or the occasional flash of a body in the darkness at night, but never like_ this. _Never so close and in the daylight, every detail exposed, every ridge and claw and tooth perfectly visible. He tried to crawl backwards away from it while not letting go of his mom._

_"Hush, hush," she said lowly, "both of you."_

_Sam glanced over and saw that Dean's eyes were also wide and centered on the strange creature, though he wasn't trying to run like Sam._

_The demon watched them from across the pond, all four of its eyes looking them over carefully, then it lifted its giant head and began to scent the air._

'Smelling dinner,' _Sam thought, and he didn't know why their mom wasn't guiding them away, taking them to safety._

_It stared at them, long and hard, and Sam waited for the moment that it leapt, when it spread its huge, spiked jaw to reveal rows and rows of vicious fangs, only to gobble them up in one bite and swallow them whole, just like they did in the stories all the other children told at night by the fire._

_"Mom,_ please," _he pleaded, whispered, though he knew the demon could hear him._

_"Shh," she replied. "It's okay... I'd never let anything hurt you two. You trust me, don't you?"_

_Sam nodded uncertainly -- certain in his trust for her and that she'd never want anything to hurt them, but not certain that the demon wouldn't be the one to thwart that and attack anyway. Dean was nodding as well but he wasn't looking at their mother. His eyes were still fixed on the demon that Sam would only nervously glance at and the expression on Dean's face reminded Sam so much of their father: watchful, protective. Almost a scowl, as if he were daring the creature to try something._

_Sam didn't know why his whole family was insane._

_A second later, the demon shuffled lower on the ground, situating itself on the side of the pond, and leaned its head down to drink the water, opening its jaws to let it flood in, then lifting its head and tipping it back, the water disappearing down its swiftly working throat. Sam swallowed hard, amazed by how big its neck was, knowing he'd fit in there without a problem._

_"Don't be scared," his mother's voice was low, hushed. "See? It just landed here for a drink of water."_

_"And maybe a snack," Dean added, and Sam winced._

_"Dean!" she admonished, almost too loud. "Don't scare your brother."_

_Dean puffed out a breath, about to respond when he glanced over and saw Sam's face, and his expression changed, the irritation bleeding out to be replaced by a smile. A smile Sam knew well. It was the one Dean had given him when teaching Sam to walk, and when he was teaching Sam to climb rocks and trees without falling, holding out his hand every time and saying_ 'here, Sammy.' _It was a smile that Sam trusted inherently because, without fail, it always meant that nothing bad was going to happen._

_"It's not scary, Sammy. Mom's right. It's all the way over there. Besides, if it did come after us? I'd fight it while you got away."_

_"You would...?" Sam asked, uncertain._

_"Of course. I always make sure you're safe, don't I?"_

_"Yeah, but..." Sam believed him. If Dean said that he'd keep Sam safe, then that meant that Sam was safe. Sam felt the fear for himself begin to vanish, only to be replaced by a new one. "But what about you? What if something happens to_ you?"

_He couldn't imagine a world without Dean in it. Without the big brother he followed and idolized, the big brother who always let him come along, even when all of Dean's older friends said he should ditch his kid brother. The big brother who would crawl into bed with him if he was having a nightmare, or give him some of his food when the rations were sparse and do it with a smile._

_Sam_ didn't want _a world without Dean in it. It wasn't a world worth having._

_Dean, though, just laughed quietly, as if Sam's worry was for nothing._

_"Nothin's gonna happen to me, Sammy. There's no way."_

_Dean shrugged and grinned, and Sam, who hung the sun and the moon and the stars on Dean's name, believed him and smiled. Everything was going to be alright._

_He turned back to look at the demon, who was still drinking his fill of the water._

_"You've nothing to fear from demons, Sam," his mother added on, now that he was calmer. "They don't hunt humans. They are our kindred spirits in this world and though they don't know how to build houses or plants seeds or speak words, they still know that. They can see it in us. They can see how the light in us matches theirs, and even though they are big and powerful, even though they could easily prey on us, they don't. They know we are meant for each other."_

_"Meant for each other?" Sam asked, curiosity hedging back in now that the fear had been abated. But before his mother could reply, the demon slid itself down the embankment that it was resting on, pushing itself into the pond and into the mud, rolling itself around in the stuff, water flying everywhere._

_Their mother laughed in surprise and the three of them got up, backing away from the mud bathing demon just as the heavens began to open, rain beginning to titter down in that steady rise that promised a downpour in a minute or two._

_"We have to get back to the village!" their mother said over the sound of the rain falling around them, holding her blanket over her head. She was smiling and the rain was icy cold, but Sam and Dean were laughing as the three of them dashed back towards Lawrence, sprinting across the open spaces of the fields._

_That evening they had to all sit around the fireplace naked save for blankets and furs heaped on them by Sam's father, the three of them still smiling even though John was muttering something about foolish wives and children._

\-----

Sam woke up with tacky cheeks and sore eyes and a sour feeling in his stomach that was only half from hunger.

He was laying twisted in his blankets on the hay, sleep having been evasive the night before, only finding small pockets of it here and there and no real rest. He stared at the bale of hay laying in front of him, cramped into the corner between the loft and the ceiling. Below him, the horses were nearly silent, still asleep in the wan light of the early morning, save for the occasional flick of a restless tail swatting flies.

Sam sighed, letting the breath out slow.

The morning after was both calmer and worse at the same time, a little distance having dimmed his temper, but that lack only leaving room for regret to move in, a living thing in his gut. He always wondered if things could have gone better, if _he_ could have been better, but it always came back to the same thing: he and his family seemed to be fundamentally incompatible. It didn't matter that he didn't want it to be that way. He could compromise only so far, and they would compromise only that he should be exactly as they expected him, and he couldn't live with that -- not anymore, at least.

It didn't change the fact that he wanted to crawl down from the loft and into his brother's bed like he was three years old again, and Dean would grumble and lift the furs until Sam was tucked up close with him, safe and protected and certain that the world would always be alright if Dean was there.

Sam made a gruff noise and rolled over.

He wasn't three anymore, and the world had problems whether or not Dean was there, and Sam was old enough to know that now, not lay around in bales of hay getting starry eyed over his brother like any one of the young women that Dean managed to talk into going back with him to behind the main hall. The thought made his blood run a bit hot, but he shook it off, scooting over to the ladder and making his way down.

He didn't have the time to wax dramatic in his head all morning. He didn't have any money, and while working in the stables got him somewhere to sleep, he still had to go out and get his own food. There was no way in hell he was going begging back to his father, and while he was sure that the other villagers would happily give him food, their community small and close knit, Sam had his dignity. He already carried the burden of being the coward, he wasn't going to become the beggar, his head hung and pride bent.

Besides, he might not have been a good hunter, but that didn't mean he wasn't good at hunting. The regular kind, anyway. The kind that had nothing to do with demons at all.

The horses were rising with him and the sun, and he took a few minutes to throw each of them some oats, letting Berna lick the salt from his fingers. He hadn't brought much of anything with him when he'd left his home, the whole thing having come sudden and unexpected when his father had drawn the line in the sand, so he didn't have much in the way of weaponry and he didn't really want to risk breaking into his bedroom. There wasn't much in the way of a bow and arrow, which would be optimal, around the stables, but there were pikes in the storage shed -- the simple metal and wood weapons stored all around town in case of a demon attack.

Sam grabbed one and headed out into the pre-dawn woods, the sky still tinted grey and misty, thin clouds over head stretched out like sheer cloth, some having descended during the night to play around the tree tops.

The woods were always quiet at this time, more quiet than any other time. Those creatures that rose with the day still sleeping, and those that rose with the moon settling down after a long night. It was only Sam and his prey -- either those too tired to notice him or those still rousing themselves from sleep and unaware.

It was easier to clear his mind here when all that mattered was how little sound his footsteps made or how sharp his eyes were. There were no fathers here, no brothers. No hunters or clansmen, no judgment. Just him, his weapon, and the forest, and he felt like maybe he could feel his ancestors when they first stepped out onto this windswept land and said 'we will go no further.' It was here, just him and the forest, that he could prove he was more than just the worthless son.

He was a man, even without the halberd to show for it.

The pickings were slim, though, that morning. The air was still cold with night, mist sticking to the fine hairs on his arms, making the skin goosepimple and shiver. He ended up taking several shots as he wandered through the wilderness, but he either missed or had been chasing a shadow. It wasn't unusual -- it always took a few tries, and this morning Sam was more willing to indulge in a hike, not particularly wanting to return to town.

He ended up skirting back out to the cliffs, walking along the edge with the forest thick to his right and the sea to his left. Lawrence was well and truly behind him but he didn't care, making his way steadily east and towards the slowly rising sun that was just beginning to crest the distant horizon. It was a relief to be this far from his family, where he could play pretend in his head that he would just keep walking.

He would keep walking and walking until he was free and Lawrence and all her troubles were long behind him.

Walk until he could forget the fight, forget his father's words. Walk until he could forget Dean, forget the way his brother made him feel. Until he could sweat the love he felt out of his skin and feel clean once more, no longer chained to a man who didn't need him anymore, not like Sam needed him, not like when they were kids and to be near one another was to be breathing.

He turned back into the forest at the river, the thundering crash of the water falling over the cliffs and into the ocean below a constant sound. Sam made his way along the bank until he could cross, and at first the strange noise was covered by the waterfall and he didn't notice it. He just headed further into the shade of the canopy, eyes peeled for any sign of movement -- a rabbit maybe, or some smaller rodent. He'd settle for a vole if he had to.

He was making his way over a ridge, boots careful against the stone as he slipped down the edge and on to the cushy bed of leaves below when he heard the noise for the first time.

It was distant, still mixed with the rumble of the falls, but Sam went still, body rigid as he listened, ears trying to pick it up a second time. For a long moment, there was nothing. Then it came again -- a creaky groan, and then several louder, short cries stabbing into the air. Sam swallowed, hand clenching around his pike and bringing it to bear. He considered for a moment going back, turning away, but the idea of running from this as well was too much and he had more to him than any of them thought.

He was stronger than any of them thought.

He was still careful as he headed forward, steps steady, slow, and quiet. At first, he only knew the general direction of the sound and it was quiet long enough that he thought he'd lost it until the sound came again, louder, much louder and closer and enough to make Sam's body twitch with the desire to jump. His hands clenched hard around the pike, almost painfully, and he hunkered down.

Whatever it was, to make that kind of noise it had to be _large._

One of Sam's feet edged forward and he crept along the forest floor, the nail of his index finger digging into the meat of his thumb as he gripped the thin wood of the pike's shaft. There was the sound of a huge body shifting, weight twisting around and then hitting against the ground with a groan, leaves and detritus scattering. Sam stopped again, breath coming in short bursts, keeping it as soft as he could.

As he moved forward, the trees began to thin, letting in more light -- not a clearing, though. The brush had been crushed, as if trampled, and the thinner trees had been bent and broken altogether.

Sam slipped through the opening between the trunks of two larger, unbroken trees, his body covered by the brush in front of him. The wind was blowing from the sea, carrying his scent south and away from the source of the noise, and Sam slowly peered out, eyes amongst the leaves, searching.

There was a great heave, something massive breathing in, and it didn't take Sam but a heartbeat to find it.

A demon, long and black all over, tied and bound in one of the hunter's traps.

Every ounce of training in Sam's body told him to stay still, to move back carefully, and he could hear his conscious mind instructing him to. He felt himself respond as he should.

But that four year old whose screams still rang in his ears gave another cry, so loud, so fucking desperate and wild, and Sam threw himself back like he'd been punched, body hitting against a tree trunk and stopped, leaves crunching all around him

The noise was enough and the demon raised its head, shifting its bound body, and caught him in its eyes -- red, blood red, red like all the blood in the world and full of violence, crimson like every nightmare Sam had ever had, except caught in the bright, clear muscles of the beast's eyes. Sam couldn't even breathe.

Some distant voice whispered: _not yellow not yellow not yellow._

His hands were clenched in the leaves and he didn't know where his pike was, but he couldn't turn his face away to look for it. The demon was staring at him, staring into him, just like eleven years ago, searching through his soul, and Sam struggled for breath. The monster twitched against the ropes, body tightly contained but who knew for how long. Sam's legs pushed out, shoved against the ground to push himself back, but the tree remained unmoving at his back, holding him still, and he was too senseless to think around it.

He could see the demon's wings strapped tight to its body, its four legs scrabbling underneath it and its tail slithered like a snake in the grass.

Then, the moment broke and the beast threw itself against its bonds, all its weight, and Sam was certain they'd break and those teeth, all those rows of teeth, would find his skin and rip him open. A scream issued up from its throat, so loud and clear and close, too close, a terrible sound, metal shrieking against metal, the blood curdling scream of a man in the throws of death, the cries of a mother over the grave of her child.

Sam screamed as well, so scared that tears were running mindlessly from his unblinking eyes, his heart scratching to fight its way out of his chest. Somehow he threw himself over on to all fours and he scrambled away, clawing through the debris of the forest floor. It was almost worse with the demon at his back, being unable to see it, unable to know when the jump would come, when the talons would sink into his pathetic stomach and rip it open like so much yielding meat, spill him out all over the forest.

It was only when he was over to the ridge that he looked up, looked back, and he could still hear it wailing and thrashing. He could see its head through the barrier of the trees. Its eyes were still focused on him and it hadn't broken the trap. It threw itself against the restraints again and again, pausing only to look at him( _for motivation,_ that voice whispered) before snapping at the air again and scratching its claws over the stone and dirt beneath it.

Sam tried to swallow, reaching up to the rocks behind him, hands grasping the cut of the ridge until he could stand, though he didn't know how his legs could possibly work, didn't know if they were even still _there._ He climbed the ridge like a puppet, mind still gone, still lost in the haze of the memory that wouldn't let him go no matter how hard he tried.

Lost in that ceaseless beat in his chest: _Get to Dean, find Dean, Dean will protect you. Dean will never leave you._

He didn't remember running, didn't remember half the run back to Lawrence, pike gone and forgotten, left with the ever receding screams of the demon. He didn't remember giving himself over to every instinct his body possessed, only knew that he was still alive when the sun was almost halfway through the sky and he was gulping in air, hands on his knees and every bone in his body trembling within him.

And even then, he didn't feel safe.

\-----

Sam ended up sitting on the edge of the cliff, not too far outside of town.

He was unwilling to walk back in with the sweat soaking his clothes and the tear tracks still on his cheeks -- unwilling to look the fool again. He rubbed absently at his face, letting the cold sea air dry it, breathing in slowly. He could hear the sounds of the village not too far from him and in full swing by now, but his mind was still on the downed demon.

It was one of the hunter's traps. Sam knew that much.

They'd set them up years ago, back when the demons still lived on the cliffsides, before the hunters had driven them away to the Hell Gate. The traps had served to catch and detain the beasts until the hunters could get to them. They usually only caught the demons that didn't have wings, but Sam was almost certain he'd seen wings, though the memory was fuzzy through the haze of panic. The hunters didn't go out to check the traps any more, not since the demons left the mainland, and certainly not as far out as the one Sam had found -- a two hour walk away from Lawrence, even at a brisk pace.

In retrospect, Sam realized that the trap looked ancient, the metal worn and chains rusty, and he was surprised it had held the monster back. He felt his stomach flip over in residual fear, realizing just how close to death he'd come. If a single link had snapped under the demon's strength, Sam would be nothing but a smear on the forest floor and no one would ever know what happened to him.

He would have just vanished. Maybe his family would have thought he'd run away, a useless child, run off to some other land and good riddance.

His hands tightened against his pants, arms wrapped around his propped up knees, and he shook it off, pushing himself back to his feet. He'd never succeeded in finding food so he'd have to find some scraps at the tavern, and he hoped Ellen would let him eat for some work. He knew she'd just let him have some, but he didn't like the idea of charity, not right now when he needed to prove himself, both to himself and to his family.

Back at the stables, the horses were waiting to be cared for, and Sam spent an hour or two mucking the stalls and tending to the animals, his stomach growling all the while. It was difficult to concentrate after the morning he'd had, his mind constantly skipping back to his near death encounter, and as reticent as he was to mention his fearful flight away from the beast, he knew he still had to tell one of the hunters. A group would have to go out and slay the thing, after all.

The funny thing was, once Sam was done with the stables and free to search out one of the hunters, he found them bizarrely hard to find. He couldn't help but notice that the village seemed a little emptier than normal and most of the hunters were gone -- most likely on a mission from John, and maybe they'd heard about the downed demon already. Still, he stopped Jefferson, carrying a bundle of weapons through the center of town.

"Hey, Jefferson," Sam announced, running up, the burly hunter halting his steps and turning to glance down at Sam.

"Hey, kid," he replied with a grunt, shifting the heavy weight on his shoulders.

"I need to tell you about something I saw out in the woods--"

"You're gonna go need to talk to your father," the hunter interrupted, lifting his spare hand to steady the bundle. "I need to get these down to the docks. Whatever it is, your dad'll know what to do."

Jefferson didn't even wait for a reply, turning and walking towards the cliff path, leaving Sam standing in the middle of town with one hand half lifted in an aborted attempt to stop the hunter. And there was no way he was taking Jefferson's advice. Whatever ridiculous new idea the hunters were trying, Sam wasn't going to go and talk to his dad.

John had been the one to kick him out -- if John wanted things mended, _he_ could come and talk to _Sam._

With that, Sam frowned and turned to the tavern, spending the afternoon cleaning up after hunters that were in and out with barely a chance for conversation. He got his own lunch, besides the scraps he picked off the plates when the others were done. He tried to pick up what was going on, but between the calls back to the kitchen and the brief visits of the hunters, there wasn't much he could glean from conversation.

He could admit he was being a bit childish, but he couldn't help feeling a little bitter as every attempt he made to tell one of the hunters about the demon failed, everyone too busy and wrapped up in whatever it was they were doing to listen. By the time that evening rolled around, Sam had just about given up. The poor beast would probably starve to death anyway.

Except, despite his best efforts, Sam found he couldn't think about anything else for the next two days.

The nightmares he expected. Being that close to a demon, staring into their eyes, always triggered whatever it was that waited inside him, that living terror, and he slept uneasily, dreams tossed with moonless nights and low lying mist, claws in the darkness and the smell of rotten flesh. The sight of hungry desire looking down into him, through the heart of him and into some deeper core that Sam didn't know how to protect anymore. He tossed and turned in the hay, waking only to exhaustion and the waking memories of his fight with his family, an ever present backdrop, and he couldn't help but wonder what the hell he'd done to deserve this: tortured in his sleep by demons and taunted in his waking hours by thoughts of his brother and father. Tortured even more by the feelings for his brother that he knew he shouldn't have.

The frustration was palpable, painting his every moment, and it and sleep deprivation were the only excuses he had for himself when he ended up back at the site of the trap three days after his terrified sprint away. The whole thing would have been the stupidest idea he'd ever had, if it had even been an idea. Sam wasn't sure even so conscious a thought had gone into it.

Sam had managed to get his hands on a bow and quiver of arrows, borrowing them from Jo after being forced to give a stern promise that he would return them in perfect condition before setting off into the woods, and he'd told himself that he was going because he wanted to have a more successful hunt than before. He told himself he was just getting some food to store up and then he'd be back in his nowhere life with no idea what to do.

So he had no idea what he was doing back at the trap, hidden behind the trees and his heart pounding away in his chest, willingly putting himself a few feet from a demon.

He didn't know what he was doing when he nocked an arrow, because this was stupid. Why the hell did he need to prove himself to his family? Why did he need to prove that he could do something that he'd already said he didn't want to do? He'd just been kicked out of his own home because he refused to be a hunter and now he was here with a bow in his hand and an arrow nocked in the other, ten feet away from a demon chained by a trap that could break at any second.

Here to prove that he was a man.

That he could be a man in the eyes of his father.

He held his breath, eyes shutting so that the sound of his heartbeat in his ears seemed to echo and increase, the world an endless pulse -- the instinct to run warring with the desire to break free. And the thought that, maybe, if he could kill one of them, he could finally end this crushing fear. He could break free of this husk, this body that seemed like Sam but couldn't possibly contain him.

When his eyes opened, he swung himself around the trunk, bow snapping up to aim, his arms steady and strong, the position practiced, and he sighted down the shaft, the arrow head pointed straight at the demon's head.

The demon opened its eyes half way, head on the ground and looking up at him, but unlike the last time he saw it, it gave no protest. It didn't throw itself against the restraints or part its jaws in a scream. It didn't fight for freedom. It looked at his weapon and then its eyes drifted shut again.

Sam stared, panting.

This was easy. It was a trapped creature, unable to move or fight back. He had nothing to fear. All he needed to do was loose his arrow and it would be over, a thunk in the demon's skull, through into its brain and ending it. Closing those cursed red eyes forever. Then Sam could sever the head and bring it back, show the world that he wasn't a coward just because he didn't want to be a hunter. All he had to do was let go of the fletching and the arrow would fly straight and true.

He was a good shot. He wouldn't miss.

His breathing was loud, the only noise in the still forest, muscles trembling with the tension of holding the bow string taut, the leather over his fingers the only thing keeping it from digging into his flesh. But the demon did nothing.

It made sense, Sam realized. The beast had been here for three days at the very least. Perhaps more, Sam having no idea when it had sprung the trap. Sam didn't know much about demons besides how to hunt and kill them, but three or more days without water was lethal to almost any creature on the green earth.

It was just as he'd assumed: the creature would die anyway, no assistance from him needed. If he wanted to, he could just go. Back up, lower his weapon, and wait for time to take its toll. The beast was far too weak to break free now, there was no way it could escape, and Sam could have his kill without ever having to take an action.

He let out a huff, something like a laugh but mirthless.

Some man that would make him.

He lowered the point of his arrow, slowly loosening the tension in the string until he was holding it more casually, though still at the ready, still able to lift and fire should the monster do anything. It didn't. It remained motionless, chains twisted around its wings and chest heaving out and then collapsing back in, weak and stuttered, like it was pulling the last of its strength from itself, and Sam couldn't help but wince.

He couldn't help but imagine in that instant what it must be like -- dying slowly, bit by bit, piece by piece, until every last drop of water was sucked from your body, tied and restrained, chained to the ground. Unable to move for days, passing from the earth with his body restricted, struggling more and more feebly until he could struggle no more.

The arrow would be a mercy.

Sam lifted it again, sucking a breath in as he aimed. The bow felt strong and heavy in his arms, the strength to draw it taut seeming more this time, right arm drawn back far, fingers by his ear, breathing against the shaft.

It would be a mercy.

A kindness.

Leaving the beast here to desiccate, die a long and lonely death would make _Sam_ the monster. He could spare it a needless misery and prove himself at the same time, just by taking his shot and ending it. And maybe, maybe that fear would fade in the face of a true kill, defeating the monster that haunted his dreams and lurked at the edges of his soul. He could fire his weapon and take himself back, bring back who he'd been before his mother and the Death had taken the last vestiges of his security.

He could take it back.

He could become a Sam that his father and brother wanted.

He could become the Sam that Dean used to love once.

His fingers were trembling and the demon opened its eyes, not yellow like Sam kept expecting, but slices of red in the black, and he dropped to his knees, bow going slack once more. Even here, now, fifteen years old and on his own, even with a demon trussed up and handed to him on a platter, he couldn't do it. He couldn't take the shot.

He was, absolutely, the coward that they thought he was.

He'd just never known.

He jerked when he heard a long, loud croon, and he raised his head. The demon had tipped its head back, lifting it from the ground to call out, sending a plea out into the sky. A call to family, a call to a mother, a brother, a father, to anyone who would hear and come and save it, and Sam wanting to call with it, the both of them alone and unable to escape. The both of them so utterly caught by things over which they had no control.

The sad cries sank into Sam, sank deep into his chest, and he placed his hand over it, shutting his eyes. He could hear the demon's sorrow and thought that perhaps the monster was the only creature in the world who could possibly understand him.

He knew then that he couldn't kill it, no matter how much he should have.

\-----

Felling the deer was easy.

He found it after twenty minutes of searching, pulling an arrow from the quiver and hitting the yearling buck in the neck. It twitched and reared for a moment, but it was a clean kill and the animal went down fast. Sam pulled the bolt out and cleaned it before putting it back in the quiver, tucking the bow onto his back. He pulled the deer up, wrapping it around his neck and holding its forelegs on one side, hindlegs on the other, trudging back towards the trap and the demon waiting there.

He had no idea what he was doing or what was going through his mind.

It was too insane for him to contemplate for more than a second at a time, and the effort of carrying the corpse made it easy to tune himself out, to walk forward mindlessly until he reached the trampled brush and trees. He looked down at the monster under the chains, his fingers pressing into the deer's short fur as he looked down at the demon, biting at his lower lip.

This was a monumental mistake. He knew that. Knew it immediately and didn't doubt the assessment. If anyone ever found out about this, Sam knew the best he could hope to look for was exile, complete disownment not only from his family, but from his people. He almost laughed when he realized he was already halfway towards that, kicked out of his home and sleeping in a stable. But it was strangely comforting to look down at this beast that could soar the sky, that could kill him in an instant and probably _had_ killed hunters amongst his clansmen, and know that at this moment, he was more powerful than it.

Without him it would die, and it probably should.

But Sam couldn't help his fleeting empathy, seeing in the creature something of his own need. His desire to be seen. His need for even the smallest kindness.

He tossed the deer down the gully, watching the body flop limply over to rest in front of the demon, and with that motion, Sam became a traitor.

The demon was just lying there and for a moment Sam thought he was too late -- that he'd betrayed every belief his people had ever held, betrayed the memory of his mother and the war of his father, become something he'd never thought he could be, all to get there to find that the demon had already died, and he barked out a laugh at how ridiculous it was.

The loud noise startled the demon, though, and its head snapped up unexpectedly, making Sam's laugh cut short as he jumped back. The creature looked at him with hazy eyes, the irises trying to contract to focus but having trouble doing so. It glanced down at the body in front of it and Sam saw it stretch its neck out, nostrils flaring as it sniffed, taking in the scent. Then he saw it's eyes go wide, surprise flashing over its inhuman features, and then it was like all the life returned to it in one instant flash, its head darting forward, jaws latching on to the corpse and dragging it closer. Its forelegs were caught in the wrapped chains of the trap, but it wriggled as much as it could, paws stretching forward to get its claws into the meat. All it took was one rapid jerk of its head, sinuous neck twisting this way and that, and it tore the fresh carcass open, jaws ripping into meat and sinew, snapping bones with the crush of its jaws, and Sam was sickened and fascinated at the same time.

He'd seen the inside of more than one animal. He'd learned how to quickly and easily skin a rabbit back when he was eight -- the insides of a deer didn't bother him. But watching a demon lay into a body, destroy it just like it would have happily destroyed him, made his stomach churn.

He'd just fed a monster. A creature that would kill him if he freed it and feel not a bit of remorse.

The wet snapping sounds of the demon eating filled his ears and he turned, hand tight around the bow, and staggered away from it, the noise following him as he climbed the ridge, played over and over again until he reached the waterfall and the tumble of water over the cliff drowned everything else out.

He stared out to the sea, the sun low and far away, never caring to give him any comfort.

He grit his teeth and marched away, gait faster as he fled the scene of his crime, fled from his guilt, but he knew it wasn't that easy. He'd fed the thing, he'd taken it on as his responsibility. He'd done worse than put an arrow in it's head: he'd prolonged its suffering. It would still die just as it had been dying before, but it would take longer now, living in that trap, its limbs and body contorted and contained, and Sam was sentencing it to that. He was being cruel, crueler than any demon had been in an attack, and he didn't know what the hell was wrong with him. He'd fed the damned thing, become worse than just the coward who wouldn't fight, become the traitor that helped a demon -- and it hadn't even been real help. Hadn't done anything but make things worse in every way.

He strode back towards Lawrence, a head full of steam and a gut full of loathing, arms swinging, and even the two hour walk did little to calm him.

He was still enough in his own head that he didn't hear Dean at first -- didn't hear his brother's voice yelling for him until Dean was jogging up, his expression angry, and, gods, this was just what Sam needed.

"Didn't you hear me?" were the first words out of his brother's mouth.

"Obviously not."

"Maybe you were just ignoring me."

"Really? You think I'd be that childish?"

Dean didn't respond verbally, just quirked one side of his jaw up, raising his eyebrows and looking down on Sam in an infuriating manner. Sam made a sound of disgust, having no patience for this, and he dragged a hand through his messy hair.

"What do you want, Dean?"

"Gods, you're such a brat," his brother said with no hint of teasing, just flat truth, and Sam hated to admit that it still hurt. "In case it escaped your notice, princess, Dad and the hunters have left."

That made Sam's interest pique, eyes narrowing inquiringly.

"Left? For where?"

"For the Hell Gate, you--... How did you miss everything that's been going on for the last few days?"

"I've been a little busy with getting kicked out."

"Not even going to touch that." Dean crossed his arms, and Sam could tell his brother was in a mood -- had already been in one when he'd approached and that was okay. Sam was in a mood too, after the day he'd had. Dean kept going. "Look, Dad decided to go looking for the demon's island. He wants to find old Yellow Eyes."

Sam felt his body clench up instinctively, but he managed to hold back the embarrassing whimper that tried to escape his throat. Dean continued, unaware.

"You know he's been talking about it for years. Going on the offensive."

"Yeah, but he always said he couldn't," Sam replied when he managed to summon breath. "That it'd leave the village too weak to have all the hunters gone like that."

Dean shrugged.

"Things change," he said. "The summer is coming up and it's the best time of year to look. He took all of them, though." Dean's expression darkened. "All the hunters except me and Bobby. Well, and the trainees."

If anything, Sam felt a rush of gratitude there. Going out to the Hell Gate sounded like a suicide mission -- despite all his fights with his father, and despite how bad things were now, Sam didn't like the idea of the man out there, fighting against the sea only to search for an island covered in demons. He didn't like the idea of his father and dozens of his clansmen never coming home again.

But he was grateful, at least, that Dean hadn't gone. That Dean was still here, and he spoke without thinking.

"At least you're safe." He immediately knew it was the wrong thing to say.

"I don't want to be safe, Sammy!" Dean yelled, throwing his hands out to either side. "I'm a hunter, just like them! I earned my halberd -- four years ago. I deserve to be out there with them, looking for the Hell Gate with them. I want to be there when Yellow Eyes eats it. I shouldn’t be left back here with the kids!"

Sam flushed a little, but he couldn't refute what Dean had said.

"He let me think that I was going," Dean continued, that dark cloud still cast across his face. "He let me think that I was going for four days, Sammy, and then when they're loading up the boats, he tells me I have to stay back and train the recruits."

"Bobby had to stay, too."

"Bobby has one hand and one foot! Not to mention he's been training recruits since forever."

Sam reached out impulsively, despite the distance currently between them, and the fight that still burned in his chest, grabbing on to Dean's arm. As angry as he was with his brother, as betrayed as he felt by the fact that Dean was siding with their dad, it didn't actually make him love Dean any less. It seemed that nothing in the world could do that.

"Dean," he said, voice low but forceful. "I'm just glad you're here. I don't--...I don't want you out there, risking your life. What if something happened? What if you..." Sam shook his head, looking away. "What if you'd set out today and never come back and the last things we said...." His jaw clenched.

He couldn't regret what he'd said before, during their fight. It'd been true. Just because they were inconvenient, just because he didn't like having this fight, it didn't make it unreasonable. He couldn't just stand here and apologize when he still felt what he'd felt before. Couldn't say he was wrong when he knew he wasn't.

That didn't mean that he didn't want to. He wanted to get along with his brother. It was futile though because he'd wanted that since the day he was born and that hadn't really worked out so well in the end.

This time, though, Sam could see Dean's face softening. Not a lot, but a little.

"Yeah, well... You got me here." Dean sighed and shrugged, tucking his thumbs into the waist of his pants. "Anyways, I came looking for you cause Dad's left me in charge -- I guess as training or something, for when I'm in charge for real. But right now I could really kind of use your help."

Sam blinked at that, eyebrows raising, and he shyly lowered his hand from Dean's arm.

"Me? Why?"

"I can down a demon on the first throw. That's not really the same as figuring out the goddamned harvest schedule. Have you seen that thing? It's a mess, and I don't know half the stupid crop-grower symbols they use. I kind of need a geekboy."

"That's not the way to get my help, Dean," Sam responded with a frown, but it wasn't real and he knew Dean knew that. Just hearing his brother call him stupid names again, hearing him calling him _Sammy_... It was worth it.

"Yeah, but it worked, didn't it? Geekboy?" Dean's grin was fucking irritating, but Sam just laughed and shook his head.

"Yeah, yeah..." he muttered, falling into line as Dean turned and started walking with him back to town. "You know this is why Dad left you behind, right? It's not cause he thinks you don't deserve it -- it's cause you're really annoying, and no one could put up with you on a boat for a couple of weeks. Dad would be losing hunters left and right, throwing themselves overboard just to get away from you making your stupid jokes."

"Whatever. At least I'm not sleeping in a stable."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

And Sam still found himself smiling. Only Dean could do something like that. Sam glanced over his shoulder one more time, as if he could see the demon through the miles of forest separating them, but he swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to just concentrate on Dean's voice as they walked, griping about the whole situation, and Sam managed to nod at the appropriate intervals. Now wasn't the time to think about this whole mistake of a day.

Dean needed his help and he had bigger things to think about.

Besides, it wasn't like it was ever going to happen again.

\-----

"Got you a stoat this time," Sam announced, throwing it to the demon, who snapped it straight out of the air, jaws clamping down as it merrily chewed, ending up swallowing the entire carcass, fur and all.

So, it hadn't really been a one time thing, it turned out.

At first, Sam had been absorbed in helping his brother and putting the demon out of his mind wasn't so hard. There was the harvest schedule to plan, hunting parties to arrange to bring down game, as well as a multitude of repairs from the last attack that had never been attended to - buildings and structures left leaking or crushed for the last few weeks. Dean had his hands full enough with the hunter recruits, kids between the ages of eleven and fourteen, working towards running their Iron Gauntlet. Not to mention that Dean preferred training to running the more administrative side of things. When Sam had volunteered to look over the harvest schedule, to help Dean figure it out, his brother had slapped him on the shoulder and sent him a quick _'Thanks, Sammy!'_ as he jogged off to meet up with the trainees. Sam had scowled over it at first. But he'd had to admit, he was better at those kinds of things than Dean and it wasn't like his brother was slacking off.

Those kids were a handful.

Besides, Sam had to admit that he kind of liked what he was doing right now. He was good at it. Good at reading and organizing, good and solving problems and figuring things out, good at resolving disputes, and the last week was one of the best in his memory. A week where he actually felt like he had a place amongst his people, like he was doing things that needed to be done. He'd even begun working on plans with Joshua to fortify the seawall as they never had before and perhaps to build a town hall in the village.

They were both things that had been talked of for years, but between the demon attacks it was hard to think of anything but preparing for the next one. Sam's father had always concentrated on that, on defending their town, and new projects tended to fall to the wayside in light of those priorities. It was hard to grow and develop when you were fighting a war.

But now, with the hunters off finding the Hell Gate, the hope was that there wouldn't be any more demon attacks, at least for some time, and Sam preferred to concentrate his efforts on building things that would make people's lives better rather than only trying to preserve the meager things they had left. It was only now, in charge of such things and looking at the village from a different vantage point, that Sam realized it had been years since anything new had been built. They'd been working so furiously just to keep from sliding off into the sea or burning down in hellfire that no one had bothered to think about moving forward.

Sam hadn't thought that being put in charge, of all things, would be the thing that turned things around for him, but for the first time he felt valued. He felt like he was doing something good.

Which he could only hope would cancel out the _bad._

He looked down at the trapped demon, who was running its tongue around the outsides of its mouth, gathering up the remaining blood. It turned its eyes back to Sam, looking eager, and Sam almost laughed when he saw its tail was moving back and forth.

"Nothing else, man," he said, sitting down on the forest floor. "I only have so long before I have to be back and the stoat was all I could find. You're lucky it's summer. Any other time of the year and the pickings would be too slim."

The demon just quirked its head, uncomprehending, and Sam was reminded of talking to the horses in their stalls when he curried them. Alert eyes, intelligent and aware, but unknowing of the complexities of human language.

And, if anything, Sam thought the demon was more intelligent than the horses. He'd seen it trying to figure things out -- trying to solve the riddle of its entrapment, which always made Sam shiver to watch.

He wasn't sure why he kept coming back. This was his fourth visit coming to feed the creature and watch it, trying to figure it out, like it could give him some answers to his own life. The monster still scared him, still set his heart pumping and blood racing, but the terror wasn't as sharp, as sheer, as it had been the first day. It was a beast, no doubt, and Sam knew that it would kill him if given the chance, but it didn't behave like all the other demons Sam had seen. Admittedly, the only demons he ever saw were in the middle of attacking, caught up in the heat of battle and desperately seeking violence. He'd always imagined that they were the same no matter where they were or what they were doing. That on their isle, far out into the sea, they sparred and fought over meat, hissed and spit hellfire at each other.

He imagined they were born to violence, lived in violence, and died in violence.

But the demon before him just sat there and tried to figure him out. Just as much as he sat there trying to understand it, the both of them a mystery to each other, and Sam hated how much of himself he saw reflected in the monster's eyes. More than just the impression of his silhouette against the moisture, something deeper.

He jogged home when the sun began to set and Dean chewed him out for going missing for so long.

The next day they started first harvest on schedule, almost everyone in the fields, plucking the fruits of their labor from vines and stalks, others carrying full baskets back to the two store houses, stacking them in the crates there. Sam stood to the side and monitored everything, kept three men back in town to guard -- to yell if there was an attack, though it was unlikely in the middle of the day -- and kept people moving, others going in behind to plant extra seeds for second and third harvest.

Through Sam's organizational work with the harvest schedule, they brought in the crop in only one day, something that hadn't happened in years, and that evening, in Ellen's tavern, he was given ale and pat on the back over and over again, and he never felt so much a part of something. Never knew how it could feel to be surrounded by others, laughing and talking and doing nothing else. Never knew how full he could feel to look across the table and see his brother's eyes looking straight at him, bright in the flame light of the tavern and far too soft, far too warm, and like he saw Sam.

Sam flushed and ducked his head. Later, on the way out of the tavern, Dean wrapped one arm around Sam's neck, holding him in a headlock and messing up his hair, despite Sam's wild protestations.

"You did good today, Sam," he said, and Sam felt so full of pride that he could burst.

He told the demon all about it the next morning, waving his hands around in gestures meant to demonstrate but hardly conveying the point. The demon just watched him with avid interest, having already consumed one of the two pheasants Sam had brought.

Two days after that it was a hare and a young deer, and Sam talked about how Dean had asked him to come back to the house. Sam had been hesitant at first, because just because John was gone didn't mean the problem had evaporated, and when their father got back, Sam didn't want to have to deal with the fallout of having moved back in. Sam had hemmed and hawed about it overnight, but in the morning Dean had firmly told him that it was his house too, and Sam might be irritating, but he was still family. Sam told the demon about sleeping back in his own bed, knowing his brother wanted him around, even if the fight was still a thorn that stung in Sam's belly.

The day after that, Sam managed to make it out there again, this time with only squirrel, but he'd brought a clay bowl with him. He filled it up at the river nearby and used a long stick to cautiously push it over and the demon drank it down quickly.

He made it out once more after that, unable to get his hands on any food, but bringing more water, and talked about the work they'd started on building more homes, even clearing the land for a possible town hall, and that people listened to him. Actually listened to him instead of just ignoring him as that no-good second son. And the demon listened too, still wrapped in chains, and Sam winced when he saw the metal was beginning to dig into the creatures skin, wearing reddened grooves where it had rubbed the scales off.

On the way back, he had to remind himself that it was a demon. It didn't deserve his pity or his empathy.

He didn't know why the thought ached in him the rest of the night. He couldn't be considering letting it go. He _couldn't_ be. Feeding it was one thing, but letting it go...

He put off going again for a day, trying to clear his head of his temporary insanity, but he fully intended to go back the day after that. He really did. After all, the creature depended on him to live. But the day was long and busy, moving rocks from down by the seawall up to construct walls, and when Sam went to hunt for game, Dean decided to come with him, and he just _couldn't_ get away.

But it happened again the next day and the day after that, and every time he managed to slip away, someone was coming running over to him, asking a question or wanting to talk. He wasn't invisible Sam anymore, the kid that could disappear without anyone noticing. He was someone that people had questions for, someone that people wanted to discuss things with. Someone that was a part of the community he lived in just like he'd always wanted.

And now he was cursing it.

There was no way he could leave if there was a chance of someone noticing. They'd begin to wonder, and if anyone found out about what he was doing... He didn't even want to finish that thought.

It was a full week before he was able to get back to the trapped creature and Sam didn't know why his heart was beating in his throat, nerves churning in his gut. For a demon. A _demon._

He didn't even stop to hunt, just ran the coastline to the river and crossed it, climbing down the ridge and dashing up to the trap, breathing hard. He came to a stop between two trees and stared down.

The dark shape of the demon was laying there, asleep, neck stretched out.

Except it wasn't moving.

"No," Sam murmured. "No, no no..."

He tripped as he slid down the small embankment, no memory of his own mortal fear as he ran straight up to it, ran down to a demon like a dumb animal ready to be slaughtered. But the demon didn't move.

"No, c'mon..." he said, sliding to his knees, both hands reaching out, and he hesitated. "Please, I'm sorry... I'm sorry, I couldn't get away... You'll be okay now. You'll--"

He choked, brow knit, the guilt like a punch. He'd done this. He'd left a creature chained and bound, trapped. Unable to defend itself or hunt. Unable to _live_ without him, and then he'd left it for a week. He'd sentenced it to death as much as if he'd let that arrow fly.

The chains had scraped some more of its tiny black scales off and up this close Sam could see how little and delicate they were, like snake scales all over its skin except for where there were smooth plates across its forehead and nose. Its wings were bound close, but Sam could see their strange elegance all the same, folds and folds of paper thin leather, the criss-cross of veins running just beneath the surface. A ridge of spines ran down its skinny body to its equally skinny tail, and it was...beautiful.

Despite himself, he could see that, and he needed to get the chains off. He needed to take them away before they marred the beast anymore than they already had, wearing into the skin and leaving reddened marks.

"See," he said, voice warbling. "It's okay."

His hands trembled as he reached for the binding of the trap, something the demon would never be able to manipulate with its paws, his nimble human fingers slipping in, undoing the latch and slipping the first link of chain out. It fell slack and Sam tossed it quickly over the demon's body, undoing the second and then third chain before moving to the latch at the monster's hindquarters and doing the same.

"It's okay, you're going to be free. I'm going to let you go, see? You'll be alright now. So...So open your eyes. C'mon." He threw the chains off, shoving up onto his feet and stumbling a few steps back, as if he just expected it to take off like that.

"You're free," he said, and he looked down at the body, completely bare and free of restraints. He saw its chest rise and tremble on a thin breath and he shook his head. "No... No, you can't die. You're free. You're--"

He trembled forward, falling to his knees by its head, and he wasn't even aware of the fact that he wasn't thinking about yellow eyes. He put his hands on its snout and was surprised to find it warm.

He'd always thought that the demons would be as cold as reptiles. As cold as their corpses were in the wake of an attack.

His hands slid around its muzzle, lifting the large head -- bigger than a horse's, but not by much. It was long and thin, ridges over the nostrils, thick black plating running up the center of its face, and the long slits of its huge eyes closed. It had four sets of horns -- one large, the other small, and the last two very small indeed, and Sam could see long, skinny ears tucked behind the second set.

"C'mon... You're okay. Please. You have-- You have to be okay." He ran his thumb over the scales coating the ridge over its eye, willing it to live, willing it to show him that he hadn't made such a massive mistake.

It was a demon, one of the monsters that had killed his mother and attacked and killed his people. It was the same kind of beast that haunted his dreams and his every step, but somehow, against everything Sam knew, it had become _his_ demon and he couldn't bear the thought that he'd killed it.

"Please..." he whispered, hunching over and shutting his eyes tightly. He swallowed hard. "Please."

Under his hand, he felt something spark, like an ember off of a fire hitting his skin, going off between them, and he gasped. His hand flew back from the creature's skin, from the strange warmth, and he looked at his palm. In the center of it there was a glow, fading away slowly.

He heard a low growl -- no, something else, something different -- and Sam's head snapped back, seeing the demon's eyes form ruby red slits, and then widen as it hauled itself to its feet, and Sam tried to scramble back, but could only go so far before his back met rock. He stared in half awe and half horror as it groaned and lifted its wings -- so huge, so gorgeous, stretching up into the sky so far, each one as long as the beast's body -- shaking itself and sending grit and rubble flying. Sam threw an arm in front of himself, protecting himself from the worst of it.

He waited for the sound of it taking off and he didn't know what to do when all that came was silence.

He lowered his arm slowly, only too late to feel a hot blast of air against his skin, and then he was staring into those eyes, red as rubies, and seeing those eyes stare into him.

The demon was free and all around him, black wings covering the sky, and Sam didn't breath.

The beast was long and elegant, legs like a horse's but ending in powerful paws, perfect black talons scratching the ground. It's body was slender and tail even thinner, a whip with a frill of fur at the end. Its great neck was stretched out, its wings coming from its back and the leather running the length of it -- attached from just behind the shoulder all the way to the base of its tail.

They looked at each other and Sam felt the panic bubble up and then...leave.

As abruptly as it had come, it vanished, and he watched unblinking, seeing himself in its eyes as he had before. Close enough now to see the whole of himself in its eyes, his face, his clothes, all reflected there.

And, strangely, something else.

Something that was glowing. Something white, and bright, and building. It was like a star that was far too close and it began to eclipse Sam, covering him up, but Sam couldn't see anything anywhere around him. There was no great light between them, nothing to cast that kind of reflection, but in the demon's eyes it outshone everything, enough to make the creature's pupils become thin slits.

As if it were looking into the sun.

Sam felt his hand lift, no control over it, and he reached out, reached for his killer, his mouth barely parted, the world something faraway and unimportant. His people, his village, his life all nothing in the face of the desire to touch the demon. To find the source of that incredible light.

The demon's wings shot out, as wide and stretched as they could be, and in the next instant it heaved itself off of the ground, shooting up into the sky with an incredible blast of air that made Sam recoil. He heard its wings beating again and again and then heard its monstrous cry echoing out over the land. Listened until he heard nothing at all except the sounds of the river and the forest and he was all alone.

The demon was gone.

\-----

Sam spent the next week in a daze.

Dean repeatedly asked him what was up, if anything was wrong, but every time Sam would just shake his head and brush him off. It wasn't like it was something that he could tell Dean about. It wasn't something that he could tell _anyone_ about.

Somehow, miraculously, he'd pulled off feeding and then freeing a captive demon, visiting it several times without anyone noticing that anything was up. Sam didn't intend to look at that particular gift horse's mouth, not when the consequences of being found out could have been so awful. Even without anyone else knowing, Sam couldn't help but feel the oily sink of guilt from time to time, especially when Bobby or Dean told him that he was doing a good job or one of the other clansmen would clasp his shoulder and thank him for all his help.

They wouldn't do that, if they knew what he'd done.

At the same time, though, he was also feeling something else entirely. He kind of...missed the demon. And if that wasn't fucked up, he didn't know what was. He was wondering things like if it was okay, what it was doing now. Had it headed back to the Hell Gate or stayed here? Would it suffer any long term effects from its captivity? Maybe it had only managed to take off with a surge of energy, and had landed not too far off, languishing away despite its freedom.

The thoughts, questions, plagued him, played with him, and warred with the guilt. It made doing his job hard, but he did what he could to persevere.

"Things're looking good down at the docks," Jo commented, jogging over a large stone and landing squarely on two feet.

"Yeah?" Sam asked absently, his mind still unavoidably on the strange demon. He was wandering along just behind her. They were ostensibly looking for game, but with Jo's talking, their chances of finding anything were low and dwindling.

"Yeah -- the fishermen say they're going to go out tomorrow. That the summer schools have come in. I bet they'll bring home a shitload."

"Your mom'd ladle you if she heard you say that."

The blonde hunter spun around, stepping backwards as she talked, her bow held behind her back, and it was the very same bow that Sam had taken with him to kill the demon and Sam felt himself flush a little guiltily.

"Yeah, well," Jo said with a shrug. "My mom's not here. Besides, it's only cause I've been hanging around with your brother so much. He's not exactly delicate, when he takes us out on training runs."

"How're those going, anyways?" Sam asked, not having had time to check in with any of the other hunter trainees. His eyes flicked to movement and he pulled an arrow from his own quiver. Living back in his own house, he'd been able to get to his own weapons. His bow was a fine one -- his father's bow before him, and handed down to him at thirteen. Even back then, Sam knew what it was. It had been a gift meant to make him want to fight, to prove himself a great demon hunter. It would have worked with Dean. Dean thought the same way their father did.

Sam had just used it to hunt down swift-footed hares.

People didn't seem to care so much that his aim was excellent when all he shot were harmless bunnies.

He sighed and lowered the bow when his sighting turned up nothing.

"Going alright," Jo replied, once it was clear that Sam wasn't going to be taking a shot. "Dean and Bobby have been taking us out, doing all the usual stuff -- making us run until we puke. Making us spar with everything from a pike to freaking rocks."

"Sounds lovely." Sam wrinkled his nose. Jo rolled her eyes at him.

"It's really not that bad. Besides, I can't argue. I _am_ getting better, and--" Her voice cut off abruptly and she pulled an arrow in an instant. It was clear she had been listening, despite all the chatter. Sam, though, wasn't about to let her show him up.

He followed her sight and nocked his arrow, barely bothering to aim before firing, and he heard Jo make a sound in indignation. He heard the wet _thwack_ of the arrow hitting flesh, and he couldn't hold in his whoop, turning to her with a grin he just knew had to be irritating. He knew. After all, Dean had turned it on him more than once.

"So, what's that you were saying about getting better?"

"That's no fair, Sam Winchester!" she protested, giving him a rough punch on his upper arm, but he just laughed and stepped back, rubbing the smarting flesh. "I saw it before you did!"

"Yeah, but _I_ shot it."

Jo showed her ultimate maturity by sticking her tongue out at him and crossing her arms, but despite the joking, Sam could see the difference -- she stood taller. Straighter. Her body leaner and toned with muscle. She was becoming a hunter, growing up. She was only two years younger than him and they'd pretty much always been friends, but Sam was surprised to find himself feeling a little sad. He'd always looked out for her and she'd always looked up to him and Dean(and maybe a little starry eyed, in Dean's case, but Sam could hardly blame her). It was strange to realize that she wasn't a kid anymore, even if she still joked and laughed and stuck her tongue out at people.

She was going to become a hunter and Sam could already tell she'd be damn good at it.

His grin softened into a smile.

"You're going to be a great hunter, you know," he commented, genuine, and she blinked in surprise. Then, shy hope.

"Really? Do you think so?"

"I think so. I think you're--...You've got that. You know, that thing they have."

"Not sure that's a compliment coming from you," she pointed out. "You think all the hunters are macho jerks."

"And they are," Sam agreed, unable not to tease some. "But they're also _good._ They're good at what they do, and they're...they're fearless. You're like that. I've never seen something come up that you didn't think you could take on, even if you were stupidly out matched."

"You're like that too, you know." She was looking downwards, at the bow clutched in her fingers, blonde hair falling over her shoulders. Sam huffed and shook his head.

"You know that's not true."

"What?" She looked up, face stern. "Just cause you're afraid of demons? Sam, no one in their right mind would blame you. Not after what you went through."

"You say that, but it seems like everyone always finds a way."

"I did say _'right mind,'_ and I think it's safe to assume that people determined to live on demon infested cliffs aren't exactly in their right minds, much as I love them. So what if they couldn't see it at first? They're seeing it now. You never back down from anything, Sam. You're afraid of the demons, but when your family pulls something, or tries to make you just give in? You stand your ground. You have no idea how much I envy that. I'd happily give up the ability to hunt demons if I could stand up to my mom." Jo shrugged a little. "You know what you want and you know what you think the world should be, and you don't--...you never accept anything less. I still look up to you, you know. And everyone else...they're just seeing all the things that I thought were obvious."

"Jeez, Jo," Sam muttered, unable to help the flush of his ears as he rubbed the back of his neck, unused to such bald praise. It felt good, but at the same time he felt a little worried, like maybe that starry eyed look wasn't just aimed at his brother anymore. "You, uh. I mean--"

"Ew, Sam. No. I'm not trying to _hit_ on you. Gross. You're like...my brother."

And gods, that wasn't helping. Sam felt the heated shame run even higher up his skin, thinking of his own brother and his own twisted desire to be so close that nothing could ever come between them.

"Yeah, I mean-- I didn't think-- I mean, _obviously."_

"Oh, for heaven's sake." Jo rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up in the air. "If you're going to just stand around and bumble like a little kid, let's just go get the kill and get back to town with it."

She moved past him, shoving his shoulder amiably, a communication man-to-man, even if one of them was a girl, and Sam shook his head. She'd been right, all those months back, in the seawall, and he hadn't forgotten that.

Maybe she was right this time, too. Maybe his life was finally going somewhere. Maybe he was finally doing things right and he felt a strange rush, taking a second to realize that it was pride. And he hoped that his father would see it, when he came home.

They gathered the kill up, carrying it back to Lawrence, Ellen helping them to skin the beast and cut it apart to be salted and preserved. She took them back to the tavern for a drink and something to eat and Sam couldn't help but wonder over Jo's words. About the idea that maybe he wasn't a complete fuck up.

The demon had been an anomaly. No matter what had happened, it wasn't like anyone was going to find out and it wasn't like he was likely to stumble over another trapped demon to over-sympathize with. It was in the past. A decision that, for good or ill, had already been made, and nothing could be done for it. Looking around the tavern that evening, listening to the laughter and chatter of those gathered, the remnants of their town, trying to pretend away their worry for their loved ones, so far out to sea and danger, Sam saw himself as part of them.

One of them.

The demon was gone, but his people were here.

In the morning, he threw himself back into his work, turning his mind quickly to other things whenever blood red eyes entered his mind, whenever he thought of that eerie familiar light reflected in those eyes. Turning his mind to the construction efforts, to the storage of their food for the winter that was far enough away now, but would creep up soon enough, and he tried to do what Jo said he did so very well: overcome.

The red eyed beast was gone, and it was time for life to go back to normal, as it always ever did.

And for once, for a week, everything was fine. Until the night the demons came.

\-----

It started quiet, which was unusual.

Sam woke up in the middle of the night, not knowing what woke him, but feeling the chill of danger in his gut. He was bleary, coming out of the deepest part of sleep, and he ran a hand over his face, up and through his hair. Then he heard the creak of wood and tensed, reaching for his knife.

"Shh," Dean hissed to him and Sam felt a warm, callused hand cover his mouth. He blinked over the palm at his brother until the hand was pulled away.

"What is it?" Sam murmured, his voice low and hushed.

"Don't know. But it--..." Dean shook his head.

"Feels wrong," Sam supplied, and Dean nodded grimly.

"Yeah... Yeah."

Sam got up out of bed, quickly shucking his nightshirt, no time for modesty or embarrassment, and quickly pulled on some britches and a shirt. He reached for his boots and blinked when he saw Dean quickly turn to look away, as if he'd been afraid to be caught watching. Sam felt his mind grind to a slow halt, tripping over that thought and his brow furrowing, but as he opened his mouth to speak there was a loud noise from outside -- the _thit-woosh_ of hellfire being spat out, and then the sound of impact, sudden and loud in the stillness, followed by angry sizzling and the growing build of sparks turning into flames around the liquid fire. 

Then the sound of screaming.

"Demons!" Dean yelled, no need for silence now, and Sam grabbed his boots, pulling them on and binding them quickly, jogging down the stairs after his brother as they rushed out. There was no place more dangerous than inside during a demon attack. One spark of hellfire was enough to reduce a house to tinder and in not much time.

"Here!" Dean grabbed a pike, tossing it broad through the air. Sam caught the shaft, the two brothers running out into the night, now lit well by the dancing orange of the fire consuming the tavern. The tavern that Jo and her mother lived in.

"Jo!" Sam yelled, surging forward, but he was snagged by Dean.

"Wait!" Dean commanded, and Sam set to argue when he saw his brother pointing. He turned his head back and saw the shadowy figure of Jo dragging her unconscious mother from the building.

"I need to go and see if they're okay," Sam said, worry for both of them riding high in his chest.

"No," Dean answered firmly. "We're down all our hunters except me and Bobby and some kids. We need every able hand. And you know better than to run across the open ground like that. We don't know how many are here. They could be watching from the skies. Jo's trained -- she'll know how to look after her mom. I need you to get to the other side of town. I need you to make sure that everyone over there gets back around to us safely and down to the seawall. I'll get everyone on this side."

Sam swallowed hard but nodded, knowing better to question now, but he still flinched when he heard another break of hellfire fly through the air. 

"Go!" Dean commanded, giving him a shove, and Sam took off, dodging the light of the flame and running from shadow to shadow as he traced the line of the houses and stores. He could hear people on the west side of town evacuating -- too many people untrained in hunting, too few hunters left. Most of the village would end up down at the seawall and it would be up to a handful of barely trained hunters to deal with the attack.

Do-able, if it was small.

But if it wasn't...

Sam tried not to think about it. The east end of town was divided from the rest by the store houses, and while most of what was over there were sheep pens and the stables, there were still a few houses -- Bobby's being one of them. By the time Sam angled himself around the store houses, moving into the eastern square, he could already see most people moving, everyone here already well trained and well versed in how to survive an attack. Still, Sam hurried them along, standing firm as the others ran past him and on towards the trail down to the beaches. 

He felt his muscles lock when a demon scream rent the air, and he could see the orange beat of massive wings as a heavy red beast set itself down, spitting hellfire at the last few townsfolk running away. Sam flipped his pike, using the unsharpened end to drag the last straggler out of the path of the flame, before shoving his weight against their back.

"Hurry! Keep going!"

The angry sizzle of the hellfire spit and hissed near him, putting off immense heat, but Sam turned back to the demon that was edging towards him. The fear was still there, old and familiar, like a friend he'd never wanted or asked for. But he'd spent days looking after a demon. He'd put his hands on a demon's skin and survived.

And these people looked to him. Looked at him with respect, with value, and he wasn't going to lose that now. They needed him to cover their exit.

Sam gripped his pike, skin feeling cold and clammy despite the heat of the fire, breath coming short and shuddering, and stood his ground.

The monster was shifting back and forth, its eyes watching him and covered with a thin yellow haze, approaching him cautiously -- smart enough to be wary of a human with a weapon, it seemed. Sam thrust the pike out in a threatening gesture and it jerked back slightly. It didn't pause long before advancing again. He was a human with a weapon, but there was only one of him, and he was about the size of the demon's foot. It wasn't a fool.

Sam's hands clenched around the pike, so tight he felt like his hands might bleed from the pressure, and the demon surged forward, snapping at the air. Sam threw himself to the right, rolling away. It whirled immediately and he knew he could dodge it, knew he was more than skilled enough to fight, but the fear slowed him. Even as he refused to run away, it still dogged him. 

The second snap came just as quick, with even less time to react, though, and Sam tried to get ready to shove his pike into whatever part of the demon he could reach, when he saw Bobby's hooked hand thrust into the creature's mouth, spearing it and yanking it away. The demon roared in pain as he was hooked like a fish, but it didn't last long. Before it could retaliate, Bobby brought his halberd down with his free hand, unable to sever the head without full force, but able to deliver enough to cut the windpipe, and the creature flopped to the ground. 

It twitched and clawed the ground for a few seconds and then went still. Sam could see it's eyes go lax after it blinked away the yellowish film, the light fading from them, and he shivered.

"Thanks," he called to the old hunter, straightening himself.

"Thanks nothing," Bobby replied, already jogging unevenly around the monster on his pegged leg and over to where it had spat its hellfire. "It got one of the storehouses! Help me put it out before it takes out the harvest."

Sam had to clamor up on to the roof, pushing the thatch that had caught fire down, letting it slide out on to the ground. He could hear Bobby below, cursing up a storm as he stomped blankets over the flames. The dry thatch would continue to burn, even if the actual fire was put out, and Sam refused to take any chances. He pushed most of the east side of the roof off, happier to have to replace it after the attack than lose everything they'd worked to gather through the planting season.

He was about to jump down and help Bobby when something heavy and fast flew past him, right over his head as he automatically ducked down. When he looked up, he could just make out the form of a demon, hellfire glowing bright in the dark sky, dripping from between it's teeth, and Sam could see where it was headed: straight for the fields.

"Bobby--!" he started.

"Go!" the hunter cut him off. "I've got this."

Sam nodded once quickly, then scampered over to the other side of the roof, jumping down and rolling over the hard packed ground, pike still in hand as he took off towards the fields. There wouldn't be anyone else down there. Dean and the trainees would be fending off the main force of the attack and by now most of the townsfolk would be down at the seawall. It meant that, at the fields, it would just be Sam and the demon -- pitting himself against a force he knew he couldn't beat. He felt it like a tear in his chest, a wound that had never healed, and now he ran, feet slapping the ground, like he could out run the bleed. Get there before that soul deep terror crawled out of him and he realized exactly what he was running into.

Around the bend of the forest, Sam skidded to a stop, finding the demon moving through the crop, hellfire still drizzling from its lips like fiery saliva. It had a massive head, its lower jaw thicker than the rest of its skull, ridges running along the bone structure. He couldn't fight in there -- they'd just destroy exactly what Sam was trying to save.

Getting through the attack was more than just killing the demons. It was more than what his father thought it was, more than just another little piece in his crusade. It was ensuring that their people had a future. 

And they needed this crop.

"Hey!" he shouted, ignoring the instinctive little voice in his head that say _'are you insane?!,'_ and banged his pike against the trunk of a tree. "Over here!"

The noise was enough, the beast jerking its head up and eyes lighting on him, the gaze turning suddenly eager, like it could see something that Sam couldn't, like something more was going on. Sam's brow furrowed, but he didn't have enough time to think. The beast was baring down on him, letting out a terrible roar, and Sam ducked the swing of its tail, the attack oddly light. Sam was panting and he dashed forward, trying to stay low, thrusting his pike upwards to score a hit, but the demon reared away too fast, beating its wings twice to dance over the ground with such odd and unexpected grace.

Sam circled with it, pike held ready, and throat dry within him. The demon was watching, that strange, familiar yellow clouding the pupils of its eyes, light shining in the depths, and Sam tried to shake himself. Now wasn't the time to get distracted with absent curiosities. 

The demon took the opening, reaching out with the claw on the knuckle of its wing, snatching at the air, and Sam threw it off with his pike. The attack was, again, strangely cautious. The beast could as easily burn him down with hellfire or snap him in its jaws. Still, just because it was being cautious didn't mean Sam had to.

He drew first blood when the monster took a swipe at him, lodging his pike in its forearm. It reared back, screaming out, and Sam lost his grip on the pike, pulled out of his hands as it was still lodged in the demon's flesh. It used its other paw to yank the weapon away, splintering it.

"Shit," Sam muttered when its eyes returned to him, this time with a burning rage, and Sam didn't bother to try and talk himself into staying. He turned and bolted, running as fast as he could, speed his only hope of escaping death.

Wasn't much of a hope, though.

It didn't even take five seconds for the demon to catch up with him, to pounce upon him and hold him down. Sam felt the air flee his lungs, only half from the force of the pressure against his back, and he managed to struggle around to look up at the demon holding him down. He shoved at the paw covering him, but his strength was nothing in comparison. He couldn't get out. He was pinned just about as far away from everyone else as he could be and a demon was looking him in the eye, blood still running down its foreleg.

Sam almost laughed. Almost.

He'd always known this was his death. He'd seen it eleven years ago, seen it and been waiting in terror ever since. So much for his dad's grand plans of him ever becoming a hunter.

The monster leaned down, burly neck curling, and Sam shuddered when he could feel the heat coming out of its mouth, the hellfire drizzling around his head, and gods, not like that. He didn't want to be dissolved through, burned to death. He struggled again, uselessly, and wondered how it would all play out. Would enough of his body be left to identify? Or would he just be another one of those people that just vanished during attacks -- swept off cliffs or burned away in their beds or taken by demons to be dropped out at sea or eaten, who knew.

Would Dean ever know what happened to him? Or would Dean search and search and only know that his little brother had vanished one night in the middle of an attack? Yet another casualty of a war that wasn't ever likely to end.

Sam didn't know, but he felt his whole body shuddering when he looked up and saw those eyes so close to him, looking down into him, the yellowish film stretching and moving, shifting over the demon's eyes like a living creature. Sam's fingers clenched against scales and he saw the jaws open, saw death coming for him. 

There was a wrenching demon scream, piercing and loud, and then Sam let out an 'oof' as the demon over him was tackled, shoved to the side. Sam rolled away automatically, crouching only barely, and his eyes landed on something he'd never seen before: two demons locked in battle with each other. Their claws slashed and raked, heads clashing and teeth knocking as they hissed and growled, bodies scrambling for dominance, and he saw huge black wings flare, silhouetted against the fire...

"You," Sam breathed, seeing the demon from the trap, seeing _his_ demon, fighting desperately against one of its kin, just before its thin head darted in, quick and neat, and its jaws made quick work of his attacker's throat. The larger demon went limp underneath Sam's demon, and Sam was just watching, trying to catch his breath, his near death experience there strangely distant, and before he could catch himself, he took one stumbling step forward.

That one motion seemed to be enough to snap his demon's red eyes over to him and it stared for a long moment, Sam scarcely breathing, and then it dropped the corpse, straightening to stand and tucking its long wings against its back. It glanced over at Sam and, after a moment’s pause, began moving warily across the ground back towards him. Its paws moved through the dirt loosened in the slide of their two great bodies.

It hesitated and Sam didn't know why the hell he thought he needed to show a demon good faith, but he took a step forward too, and the both of them stopped. There was blood on its lips, running down the underside of its jaw and neck, and Sam knew he should have been terrified. If there was any one moment where his fear of the demons was justified, it was now, staring at one less than ten feet away, him completely unarmed, and the monster still coated in fresh blood from its last kill.

Except its last kill had been another demon, and one that it had attacked to save Sam's life. Just as he'd saved it, only a week ago.

It stretched its neck out, hesitated, then lowered its nose towards him. Acting on instinct, on some deeper knowledge that he didn't recognize, words whispered up through the dark that he didn't quite understand as he lifted one arm, reaching out with a hand and a suicidal need to touch, just as it had felt before when he'd freed it. 

In the creature's red eyes, he could see that same light glowing, paler than the sun and yet brighter, far brighter than anything else around them. Something that should have stood out starkly in the night, but Sam couldn't see anything but the burn of those eyes and his hand hovering over the heat of the beast's flesh.

 _"Sam!"_ a voice yelled and Sam jolted back, as if waking up from a dream, the demon rearing away at the same instant. A halberd flew between them, penetrating the earth and sticking there. The weapon could be thrust like a spear, but it wasn't designed to be thrown like one. The weight of the axe threw off its trajectory and it missed the demon. Sam knew, though, that had it been a spear or pike, it would have hit its mark without fail.

"Sam, run!" 

Sam's head snapped to the side, and he could see his brother running to him, legs pumping with the kind of speed that could only be supplied by pure desperation. There was a heavy thud as the demon's paws met the earth again, weight making it shudder, and the beast's head swiveled to Dean, parting its jaws and letting out a scream, loud enough that Sam clapped his hands to either side of his head.

In the next second, the demon was taking off, flying away as surely as it had a week ago, weakened from its stay in the trap. Sam's eyes followed it, tried to track it in the night, to somehow not let go, but its black hide blended too well with the sky, especially with the orange glow of the flames setting it in contrast. Sam searched the stars, looked for points of light that would disappear behind the demon's mass, but he was swiftly interrupted, Dean running up and grabbing him, whirling him around.

"Sammy!" he said, eyes wide, panting, and Sam stared at him. "What the hell were you thinking, man? What the hell were you--"

Dean shook his head, and Sam didn't know what to do with this, still caught in the aftershocks of that strange magic, whatever it was that existed between the demon and him. He couldn't come up with any answers.

"I--"

"You could have gotten killed, you idiot!"

"I wasn't..."

"Wasn't what?!"

"I wasn't thinking."

"Damned right you weren't!" Dean's arms snatched him in, pulled him close in a way that Sam never would have guessed, and he found himself pressed to Dean's chest, close enough to hear the speed of his brother's heartbeat, a furious thud in his ears. "Don't do that, Sammy. Don't fucking scare me like that."

The words were hissed, a strange juxtaposition of quiet against the backdrop of the chaos of the attack. Sam shut his eyes, taking everything he could from the sudden affection that he knew would be all too brief. He could hear the crackle of flame and the groaning shift of wood and stone, but there were no screams, demon or otherwise, no clash of metal against claw. Whatever had happened back in town, the attack was over.

"I'm sorry," Sam murmured, still feeling out of it, still wrapped up in everything that had happened and too much to think or feel or catalogue. He felt like the world was spinning too fast, but the firm solidity of his brother somehow managed to keep him upright. "I'm sorry, Dean, I'm sorry..."

He said the words over and over again, like a mantra.

Dean didn't say anything else, but he held on to Sam all the tighter, and Sam shut his eyes, allowing himself this weakness in the arms of a kind of strength he had faith in, believed in with childish certainty, pure and unwavering. 

Like everything was going to be alright.

\-----

_"Why can't I go with Dad and Dean?" Sam asked._

_"Because you're too small."_

_"I'm not too small!" Sam objected, even though he knew logically that he was smaller than Dean, smaller than his parents._

_"Yes," his mother said sternly. "You are, and I like you that way."_

_Sam pouted._

_"What's to like about being small?" he muttered, crossing his arms. His mother was sitting over a bucket, using a cloth to scrub and clean their plates and bowls, the scratchy rough hardened clay made by heating up the mud that was pulled out from the ground. Dean had taken him to the big ovens one day, showing him how they made it._

_"Well, you can fit into lots of small spaces, for one."_

_Sam had to admit, that was pretty useful._

_"And secondly, you look cuter than everyone else."_

_Sam screwed his face up -- he didn't want to be cute._

_"But the best thing about being small is that you don't have to go out in the cold and help the fishermen bring in all their catches. Lots of freezing, slimy, floppy fish in your arms, getting your shirt all wet while you march up and down the seawall..." She made her voice exaggeratedly deep, like it was dragging along the ground, and Sam laughed._

_He had to admit, that didn't sound particularly fun._

_"So that's what Dad and Dean are doing? Hauling fish?"_

_"For now. I think in the afternoon they're going hunting -- going to see if they can find us some venison. The village has to stock up for the winter."_

_Sam didn't remember winter very well. The last time it had happened, he'd been three, and his most vivid memory was of his mother wrapping him in several layers of cloth until he almost couldn't move, and then setting him down in the snow to toddle around. This time he was looking forward to it, although everyone else looked less excited than Sam. Even Dean frowned when Sam mentioned the snow, and Bobby told Sam that winter was hard -- that there was less food to go around for everyone and more work._

_That didn't sound fun._

_And Sam supposed it was good that he was small, after all._

_He wandered away from his mother, over to the fireplace. There were a few books on shelves to the side -- something that other people didn't have. Sam's mother was smart and knew how to read. She had brought three books with her when she'd come to Lawrence. Only a few other people knew how to read even a little, so Sam's mother had been the one to teach Sam and Dean. Sam already knew how to sound out words, though Dean was faster and could read almost as well as their mom._

_There was one large book that his mother had bought off a tradesman down in Caerdeep, two springs ago. It was blank, which Sam had found strange, but his mother had been filling it with words ever since, talking to the town elders and collecting the stories of their people. Sam had looked through it before, his mother turning the pages and showing him stories she thought he'd like, how his ancestors had tricked the sea into calming by making it think it had to be quiet, or how the people from under the hill had tried to steal a baby, but the hunters of Lawrence had bargained for her return. Sam's favorite, though, was the founding of Lawrence, when a prophecy was made that Lawrence would die and fade should the demons ever leave the cliffs surrounding them._

_Sam climbed up onto a stool, reaching for the book of history, but in pulling it out, another one of the books came along too and fell on the floor with a loud smack!, its pages falling open. Sam looked down at it and he heard his mother calling for him._

_"Sam!? Are you alright? What happened?" There was the_ thud-thud-thud _of her feet on the floor and she jogged into the room, taking in the sight with a sigh of breath. "Sam...if you wanted to read, you could have just told me."_

_"You were busy."_

_"You can tell me anyways."_

_"Cleric Jim says that 'everyone's gotta work together to survive the winter' -- I didn't wanna mess you up."_

_His mother huffed and shook her head, smiling ruefully as she walked over to him, drying her soapy hands on her dress._

_"Doing the dishes isn't preparing for winter, Sam. That's something I do every day, if you haven't noticed."_

_"Oh..." Sam murmured, getting down off of the stool. He hadn't noticed._

_When he stepped down though he saw the book that had gotten knocked over, peering down at its open pages, and his eyes widened. It was a book his mother had never shown him before. He didn't recognize the writing, but on the page there was a beautiful picture, painted in colors, colors like Sam had never seen. It was a creature with big wings and red scales, yellow painted across its belly and over its nose, and it was breathing fire. All around it were intricate designs, flowers and vines all intertwining, stretching down to where a vast city was draw, hundreds of tiny little buildings made of tiny little stones and cobbled streets, completely unlike the packed dirt of Lawrence._

_"Wow..." he murmured and reached out, careless little hands grabbing the page too hard and his mother darted in._

_"Careful!" she warned, fear tingeing her voice, and Sam instantly dropped the book. She picked it up, gently folding it closed, and pushed the other books back into place on the shelf. She glanced at him, a strange look in her eye._

_"Did you want to see this one, Sam?"_

_"Oh, yes!" He nodded quickly. "Please!"_

_His mother glanced down at the thin book in her hand, pressing her lips together briefly._

_"Well...alright then. Go sit by the fireplace and I'll show you, okay?"_

_Sam hastened to obey, running over to sit next to the glowing embers of this morning's fire. They still radiated heat and Sam wriggled as close as he could go without burning, feeling the warmth burrow up his back. His mother picked up the stool he'd used to get to the books and positioned it in front of the fireplace. It was a squat stool with only three legs, and when his mother sat on it, she had to tuck her feet to the side._

_She set the book in her lap and paused, running her fingers over the thick cover. Then, seemingly reaching a decision, she tenderly pulled it open, smoothing her hand across the first page._

_"This was a book painted by the monks where I come from. It's quite old. Older than you. Older than me. They had it in their library at the monastery, in the castle."_

_"There was a castle where you lived?" His eyes were big._

_"Oh...yes. Yes, there was. But there are quite a lot of castles around." Her eyes slanted to the side, looking nervous, but Sam took no mind of it, leaning up on his knees to peer in at the book, but the first page just had a few words in that fancy writing, too fancy for Sam to read._

_"So, what's in it?" He glanced up at her eagerly. His mother smiled, that soft smile that she got when she was thinking about something else._

_"Demons, Sam," she replied, turning the page to display the angular drawing of a massive creature made from greens and golds and purples, its wide eyes seeming to look out of the page as its claws curled up in the corners. "It's the history of the demons. Or, as much as we have left, anymore."_

_Sam's mouth was open, blown away by the beauty of the drawing, eyes tracing every perfect individual scale and the shiny curve of the monster's talons. It almost seemed to be alive, crawling over the page with all the love that had been put into its creation. Then his mother's words caught up with him._

_"What do you mean?" His brow furrowed in confusion._

_"A very long time ago, before I was born, before your father was born, even before Lawrence was founded and before the Romans came... Humans and demons used to fly the skies together."_

_She turned the page again. There was more writing this time, but Sam could see in the corner of one page a man riding a demon, the demon's wings spread and smoke curling out from its jaws. The man on its back didn't seem to be in danger. He was holding a brilliant light over his head and his other hand was placed over his heart._

_"There was a whole different world then. A whole different Alba and a whole different Sasainn. There was a great kingdom to the south with cities so big that they stretched for miles. They had many smart people with many smart ideas and the cities had things in them that we can't even imagine."_

_"Like what?" Sam asked, insistent._

_"I don't know. I can't imagine it." She winked at him, then sobered. "But I know they had enough light to ward off the darkness well into the night, and they had ways to bring fresh water into the city for people to drink. They had whole buildings devoted to books and there was very little sadness."_

_"What happened? Why isn't it like that anymore?"_

_"Because we have broken our bond with the demon."_

_"Bond?"_

_His mother nodded._

_"Back then," she continued, "humans and demons formed bonds with each other - a connection forged of a bargain that allowed the demon to give half of its life to the human and the human to give half of its soul to the demon."_

_"That doesn't sound like a good deal..." Sam frowned._

_"Oh, why's that?"_

_"Because, who'd want to live for a shorter time? It'd be better for them to just keep their whole life."_

_"I suppose..." his mother chuckled. "But the demons didn't see it like that. The bond is an equal trade, and when the demon gave half of their life to a human, the human gave in return something that the demon wanted just as badly."_

_"What?" Sam asked, brow furrowed. He couldn't think of a single thing that was worth hundreds of years of life and certainly not something as intangible as a soul. Sam had never seen one, or felt one._

_"Humans have a wondrous light inside of them," his mother replied, and shook her head before Sam could ask. "I know you can't see it. It's invisible to most people. But if a person so chooses, they can share that light with the demons. Demons cannot dream. They cannot imagine or wish. But most of all, they cannot live beyond death. For them, giving up half of their life is an easy trade, to receive all of that. We would ride them. Our ancestors sat astride the demons and rode them into the skies -- partners in battle, partners in life. They were our other halves, and as we shared our dreams with them, so did they share with us the sky. And besides, demons live a very long time indeed -- their riders, their bonded, lived for hundreds of years, together with their demon."_

_"They were like friends?"_

_"Something like that... They were part of each other, the rider and the demon. They could hear each other's thoughts and feelings. A bonded pair were devastating warriors, but they didn't use that power to harm. Instead, they brought life and wisdom to the land. You see?" She tapped the little man on demonback in the picture. "He brings light with him. Light and life, through the power of the bond. Where there is a bonded pair, the earth is greener, the game more abundant, and the waters run sweet and clear. The bonded live for a long time and they see many things."_

_She turned the page again and there was a girl standing in the center, her eyes closed and her hands cupping a great golden light glowing in her chest. All around her, in a circle on the page, were demons, their eyes focused on her._

_"What's happening to her? Are they going to hurt her?" Sam asked, suddenly a little concerned._

_"No," his mother shook her head. "All humans can bond. All humans have the ability. But some humans are very special --_ 'given to the bond.' _They glow brighter than others and contain within them a power that they cannot see or sense or even use, but can be used by the demons. The stronger the light glows, the greater boon a demon receives upon bonding."_

_"What do they use it for?"_

_"It's not quite like that... It's not a tool. It makes the demon stronger and faster, makes them smarter. In the stories here, it says that sometimes the demons could learn to touch the minds or others, or even control prey animals to come to them, instead of having to hunt. There are some legends that say if the light is powerful enough, it will make the demon impervious to harm -- that no sword or pike can pierce their skin."_

_"Wow," Sam breathed, peering in at the girl. Her face was relaxed, not scared. She was holding the light as if offering it, her hair long and beautiful around her. His mother turned the page and Sam saw the same girl, this time from the side, reaching her hand up to touch the nose of a black and violet demon with eyes like amethyst gems._

_At the point where they were touching there was a brilliant glowing light, just like the one on the page before._

_"The human and the demon choose each other and they form a bond, just like this." His mother tapped the page. "And when they are bonded, the pair will be together for the rest of their lives, more than friends or family, but part of each other. It's very powerful and can never be broken. They share a soul, together."_

_Sam didn't have anything to say now, couldn't come up with any words._

_He reached up, putting one careful, reverent hand down on the page, letting his small fingers drift over the figure of the girl then up over the ridge of the demon's nose. The light that shone where they touched almost seemed alive, the gold and silver and white paint making it seem like the glow was coming off of the page. In his mind's eye, Sam could see the girl reaching up, and her demon letting her pet it, the two of them moving closer until they were one form, consumed by the light._

_He moved his hand back, frowning._

_"Where are they now?" he asked, looking up at his mother. "The demonriders."_

_Her smile drifted away, her eyes turning shuttered and half closed. She licked her lips, slowly shutting the book in her lap._

_"They all died out. There was a terrible war and the great cities of the past fell, until only a few books from their beautiful collections remained. The humans and the demons live separate now, afraid of each other and both unknowing the wonders of their past." She paused and Sam was ready with another question, with another_ five _questions on his lips, but he didn't get a chance. His mother pushed herself to her feet, walking over to put the book back on the shelf before turning back to him._

_"Come on now, I have plenty of chores to get done before we can start on dinner." She held out her hand. "Will you help me?"_

_Sam paused, desperately wanting to know more about the great cities and the demons and the demonriders and the bond and the light and the books and how they had all these wonderful things and the war and there were so many questions. But he slowly got to his feet and took his mother's hand, wanting to ask, to know, but also knowing that they were preparing for winter and he didn't want to be too small forever._

_Dean wouldn't pester his mother with questions. He'd help with the chores and get things done, and Sam wanted to be big and strong like Dean, so he didn't ask about the demonriders for the rest of the day. He thought about them a lot, while they cleaned the dishes and prepared the dinner, and while they hung up the washed blankets to dry outside, and when they went to go get water from the well to put in the kitchen._

_He didn't ask anything, but he was still thinking of it when Dad and Dean came home, when they were all sitting around the table and talking and listening to his father and brother laugh and tell about all the things that had happened that day, and he was still thinking of it when his mother tucked him and Dean into their bed. He would just have to ask his mother later._

_When he went to sleep that night, he dreamed that he was flying on demonback and all the world was passing by underneath him, life and light running everywhere._

\-----

The morning after the attack was so oddly silent and slow, a strange juxtaposition to the chaos of the night before. When Dean rocked Sam's shoulder, waking him after only a paltry three hours of rest, Sam rolled out of bed without a word. They didn't need to speak. The ritual of cleaning up after an attack was one they were well used to.

Sam half heartedly scrubbed himself up and pulled on some clothes, enough to keep out the wind, and wandered down to the kitchen, stuffing some salted meat in his pockets and grabbing a piece of fruit before making his way outside.

Just outside their door was a weary calm and plenty of wreckage. Four buildings had been damaged and one demolished, and it certainly wasn't the worst they'd ever seen, but it wasn't the best either. Sam took a large bite of his fruit, the hard meat of it dry and chalky in his mouth as he chewed, taking stock of their situation. 

The store houses had been put out last night, and as far as Sam had heard, incurred no further damage. It was a singular but heavy comfort, knowing that all their work on the harvest hadn't been done away with, even if there was plenty else to lament.

Sam heard the steady _thwack_ of Bobby's hooked hand hitting wood, burying itself in as he cleared away the wreckage, other members of the village milling around, moving debris and patching whatever holes had been left in their rooves. They'd been lucky, Sam knew that much. With most of the hunters gone, only Bobby and Dean and a haggard collection of trainees left to protect the village, they'd been lucky to survive an attack at all.

That had been the problem with going on the offense -- those left to defend were left weakened and open to attack.

Honestly, Sam was surprised the demons hadn't attacked earlier.

"Any dead?" he asked as he walked up to Bobby, disposing of what was left of his fruit, the bitten up core rolling into the grass.

"Not that I've heard. Always a bit'a chaos afterwards." The older man shrugged a little, hefting a heavy beam, charred and burned away at one end by hellfire. He steadied the weight over his shoulder and turned to walk to the cliffside. "Take an armful, would you?"

Sam nodded, jogging over to gather up as much of the remains as he could. It was important to get things cleared as soon as possible. To get the village back to functioning. Sometimes the next attack was weeks away. Sometimes, it could be the next night.

"Besides, with so many people gone away with your father, it's hard to get a count like normal. I haven't been to the other side of the storehouses -- people tell me it's a bit worse over there, but I haven't heard of anyone missin'," Bobby informed him as they walked to the cliffside. Just to the east, near the edge of the rock, there was a pile of burnt or broken wood -- no good for building anymore, but no point in wasting it. It would still be good for fires, and Bobby shook the shortened beam off of his hook, leaving it in the pile while Sam disposed of the useless debris he was carrying, dusting his arms off.

"Guess this means we're still paused on the whole 'training' thing, hmm?" he asked, glancing over at the old hunter with an expression that he hoped didn't look too eager. He hadn't been to hunter training since walking out on his Gauntlet, but he knew it was only a matter of time before he started getting grief.

"Takin' advantage of a demon attack." Bobby shook his head. "Still, I suppose your worrywortin' is good for somethin'. Gotta get this town back to runnin' order."

"We talking about how Sam's an obsessive perfectionist?" Dean's voice interrupted them and Sam's head jerked to the side to see his brother approaching, a bundle of smaller splinters and wood hefted along his shoulders, strong arms up around it to hold it in place. Sam couldn't help but watch the flex of his brother's back as he casually tossed the bundle into the pile, and he rubbed a hand under his nose.

"Not obsessive," he muttered.

"I don't think anyone but you has ever cared about keeping the grain dry."

"It'll mold in rain!"

"It'll get burned down by a demon long before we have to worry about mold."

Sam snorted.

"Ah, leave your brother be," Bobby waved them off. "He's done well, the past couple'a weeks."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean grumbled, but he slapped Sam's shoulder as he walked past, back into the village. Bobby let his left hand brush Sam's shoulder in the same manner, a brief contact and communication of confidence. The feeling, the knowledge that both Dean and Bobby saw some value in him, made Sam's chest feel wide and full, like it wasn't quite big enough for all the breath he had to fill it with.

He was so used to being discounted, automatically assumed to be less than useless. He'd had no idea how it would feel to actually be depended upon. To be thought of as _worthwhile._ He'd always expected to become a sub-par demon hunter, always hoped to become just good enough to go unnoticed, but for the past few weeks it hadn't been hunting or fighting that they'd wanted from him. He hadn't had to contort himself to fit what his people needed, but rather they had wanted _him,_ appreciated him for all his obsessive organizing and overthinking. He'd found a place, some kind of niche.

He was more than just the cowardly son of John Winchester.

He was something that people wanted.

Someone that Dean thought was good enough.

The thought, however, quickly shriveled as the air left his lungs, his mind returning inevitably to the demon who'd saved him the night before. The demon _he'd_ saved, and gods, if they knew that, they'd string him up by his ankles and that new, fledgling appreciation would vanish like the mist in the morning, and he'd be Sam the traitor, Sam the fool. Sam who let a demon live.

The fact that it had worked out in his favor in the end wouldn't be taken into account.

He couldn't help but feel a certain curiosity though, despite all of that. He'd never heard of a demon saving anyone, except for in his mother's fairy tales and bedtime stories -- nothing but fancy and foolishness to entertain children. But the demon had come back for him, protected him, _saved his life,_ like it thought it owed Sam for what he'd done. He didn't know if that was a good thing or very, very bad thing.

He was grateful to be alive, obviously, and glad of the protection he'd received. There was no doubt that without it, Sam would have died the night before, the only casualty of the attack. But he didn't know what to do with the idea that a demon could feel indebted, that it could feel obligation. He'd spent the last eleven years seeing them as nothing but bloodthirsty killers -- creatures beyond the innocent murder committed by a hungry fox or badger in the woods, fighting only for food; creatures beyond the smooth cut of a shepherd's knife through the throat of one of his flock for meat. Demons were creatures that not only killed for sport, but decimated and destroyed. They did more than merely kill humans. They wanted to wipe Lawrence out, knock it from the cliffside, and Sam had believed that ever since his mother had died and all her whimsical stories had gone with her.

He didn't like the idea of having to confront any of that -- even besides all the emotional turmoil it would put him through, there was no way he could ever get any of his people to understand him. They'd had little patience for him when he'd _feared_ the creatures instead of hated. He could only imagine the looks of shock and incredulity on their faces when he tried to explain that demon's _'weren't so bad.'_

He huffed a laugh at the thought, but there was no real humor in it. Instead, his gut felt cold and stiff as he went back to work, moving debris and handing up supplies to those working on fixing the damage. In his head, he imagined that everyone could see it in him -- could see how he was different from them, sense his thoughts. Throughout the morning, he began to read every glance as suspicious, every look piercing, and he knew he was being paranoid. 

People were more than wrapped up in recovery, taking care of the things that had been damaged, putting back together the things that had been broken, and mending themselves in spirit as they mended their houses and their homes. Sam tried to put the whole thing out of his head. After all, it wasn't as if he was ever going to see the damned thing again. In a few days, a few weeks, a few months, they'd just be rebuilding after the next attack, and the memory of when a demon just happened to save him would be only that: a memory. A strange and queer instance that would never be repeated.

But all the same, Sam's mind wouldn't stay quiet and his propensity to over-analyze wouldn't stay down and he just kept thinking to himself: _they can't be evil by nature if there is but one instance of good._

By the time midday had rolled around, Sam was getting hungry and most of the others had broken off for food or cheer, joining in small groups for conversation. Despite the chill, Sam had a thin sheen of sweat on him from all the work, and his hands were red and sore from hauling or strapping things in place. Dean had joined with some of the young hunters in training, their group scattered around the short stone wall of the sheep pens at the east end of town. Sam could hear the raucous tones of their laughter and conversation and he was half tempted to go over, wondering if his new status as a useful member of their community would give him a better greeting.

But hunters were hunters, and as necessary as shepherds, tailors, cobblers and smiths were, hunters had a tendency to see them all the same: people who weren't hunters. 

Sam's place in Lawrence might have been changing, but he wasn't a hunter, that much was for sure, and he doubted the hunters would ever forget his propensity to freeze up in the face of a demon and certainly not in a handful of weeks.

Not to mention Sam wasn't really in the mood for the Dean worship. His feelings for Dean aside, he didn't much like hearing people kiss up to the sides of his brother that Sam resented -- the emotionally distant hunter that had so swiftly and easily replaced the kind and protective boy that Sam still remembered from his childhood.

Dean's laughter broke through loud and clear, halberd leaned casually against his side, sitting on the wall of the sheep pens, and sometimes Sam wondered if he was looking at the past with the rosy vision of a naive child, building a false brother out of clay and memories. But as much as Sam dwelt on the instances of his brother looking out for him, guiding him, teaching him to swim and holding him steady in his arms while they were on horseback and saying _'It's okay, Sammy, I got you,'_ Sam still remembered when Dean used to tease him or steal his toys. He still remembered when Dean had taken their mother's sewing shears to Sam's hair in the night. He still remembered when Dean used to cry, when he was sad or upset or worried, when he needed Sam just as much as Sam needed him. Dean hadn't been an inhuman statue, faultless and unmoving. He'd been living and breathing and fallible, and beautiful for it.

Dean had never been perfect, it was just that Sam loved all his imperfections.

These days, Dean hid all those imperfections like marks of shame and Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his brother cry, or smile for anything less or greater than a dirty joke told mean.

Sam frowned and turned back towards the other end of town, headed towards their house and maybe a brief nap to gather some energy. He passed by the edge of the woods as he made his way around the tavern, the sounds of tired voices within the thick stone walls, and he climbed over a tree felled in the attack the night before.

It was as he was jumping down from the trunk that he saw it: a flash of ruby red in the forest, making his head snap to the side, his eyes searching for whatever they'd glanced from their corners. The forest was still and dark though, deep green overlaid with greys and muted brown, the leaves and brush unmoving save for the occasional errant caress of the wind.

Sam let out a long breath, his heart pounding in his chest, and he lifted a hand to lay over it, feeling the tympanic rhythm beating below. He rubbed his skin through his shirt, calming himself, when a shadow shifted and there was the sound of the forest moving, wood cracking and leaves crinkling as something large moved suddenly. Sam's eyes flew wide open and he couldn't see clearly, but he could still make out the massive shape of a creature in the woods, running away from him.

"Wait!" he said, and immediately wondered why he was calling for a demon to _stay._ He was clearly going mad. He stood there for a moment then looked around, making sure that no one had heard his exclamation, that no one had come to investigate, and then, heart in his throat, he edged into the forest past the first line of tangled brush and into the path the demon had left.

He really _was_ going mad.

Once in the space the demon had departed, Sam had no problem running -- the larger creature having cleared the brush around it, leaving the space wide open for Sam to crash through, following in its tracks. His boots tumbled over broken twigs and branches, dodging any that remained, his avid curiosity apparently having grown insurmountably strong over a morning of obsessing, because it had somehow overcome his usually strong instinct to stay alive: here he was, chasing a demon out into the woods, all alone, with nothing other than a short whittling knife on his belt.

When he broke into the clearing(and gods, why hadn't he realized that it would be here? Everything always came back to here), the sun flashed in his eyes and they automatically slammed shut, feet skidding to a stop. He was breathing hard from the run and from the fear that refused to leave, even if he was acting foolhardy. He lifted a hand to wipe his brow and opened his eyes look around, but he didn't have to look far: right in front of him, less than a few feet in front of him, staring straight into him with huge blood red eyes, was the demon.

Sam gave a short cry and fell back on his ass, staring up at it.

And, for a moment, the two of them were trapped in a tableau, human boy and giant black demon just staring at each other.

Then the demon moved forward, its head lowering and coming _right for him._ Fear for his life pumped swift through Sam's veins, terror and bile and the memory of blood as he scrambled for his knife, as ineffective as it was, but before he could untie the thong holding it in its sheath, the demon's head was right there. Sam could feel the heat coming off of its skin, warmer than any human, and Sam could see the sun reflected in a million tiny scales. Its face was right in front of him and Sam stopped breathing in one sudden gasp, watching its jaws open, dozens of pearly white teeth on display. He jerked his head to the side, eyes shutting instinctually, and he couldn't help but thinking how incredibly stupid that was. 

As if having his eyes closed was going to make being eaten alive any better. Any less agonizing.

He heard the creature bite and he winced, but didn't feel any pain. He waited for it to come, for it to appear in a blinding flash behind the shock, behind the gummy sounds of the demon chewing, but when he swallowed hard and his body still felt intact, he dared to open one eye.

He didn't see blood and gore. He didn't see his own viscera spread out over the ground and dripping from the beast's jaws. 

Instead he saw the demon gnawing on his vest, which had slipped halfway down his arm when he'd fallen -- a hand-me-down from Dean that Sam hadn't quite yet grown into, which was now having holes poked into it by demon teeth. Sam lifted a hand to shove the monster off of him, then realized that that was probably a _bad_ idea. He paused and swallowed, moving his hand towards it hesitantly, until his palm landed on the flat plate scale of the beast's nose and his breath jumped when he saw its eyes move up to look straight at him.

The scale was warm, pleasantly so, not at all like what Sam was used to handling -- cold, dead corpses, scales or leather or occasionally waxy fur under his hands, all life fled. This was moving, living, breathing flesh, and the demon watched him with an intensity, eyes not full of violence or flat with death. They were inquisitive, curious, the irises shifting and contracting as it looked him over, focused on him.

"...hey," he said, and it let the sodden corner of his vest fall from its mouth, hitting the stone ground with a wet smack. It breathed out, a hot blast of air against Sam's wrist, and he almost recoiled, but steadied himself instead, biting his lower lip. He was heady with nerves, the fear left in him from childhood still there, still present, and screaming to be let out, but it was quelled, cornered by those bright red eyes that were looking into him, not so different in nature from the eyes of humans, and Sam knew, instantly, that he would always remember that.

That his view of the world would never be able to divorce the emotional intelligence there from the demons who attacked and killed their people.

He laughed suddenly, unable not to because he could add 'sympathy' to the list of reasons he'd never be a good hunter -- bad enough he was terrified of the demons, now he had to identify with them as well?

The unexpected outburst of sound caused the demon to recoil, shifting away, and the sunlight played over its scales in pretty patterns, shining like gem stones, wings flaring from its sides.

"Hey, no," he said quickly, holding up both hands in a placating manner. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. _Gods,"_ he chuckled again. _"You_ scared of _me._ I don't have any talons you know... But I guess a halberd is just as good as any tooth or claw. Is that what you're used to? Humans with spears and blades? I bet so."

He didn't know why he was chattering on. It wasn't as if the demon could understand him. All the same, it seemed to follow the cadence of his voice, relaxing again slowly when he didn't make any more sudden moves or sounds. When they both seemed to be at ease, and it didn't look like the demon was going to up and kill him for no reason, Sam turned to inspect his vest.

It was wet with saliva and had several tears and holes poked through it. It was made from deer's skin and there'd be no mending it. He pushed a finger through a hole with a sigh -- this would be fun to explain to Dean. He paused though when he felt a weight in the pocket.

He grimaced as he stretched his hand inside the simple seam, feeling demon goo all over his fingers, but persevered, groping around until his hand caught on an object and he pulled it back, opening his palm to see the piece of salted meat he'd grabbed that morning, now mangled by several chomps from demon teeth. He stared at it for a moment then looked up at the demon.

"...this? _This_ was what you were trying to get at? You could have just eaten me, and instead you wanted...my lunch?"

The demon focused intently on the meat, the spines on its back bristling with what Sam could only assume was excitement. Its long whip of a tail was fidgeting around impatiently and Sam spotted its forked tongue wetting its jowls. Sam, meanwhile, was still stuck on the fact that a demon had gone for a single piece of salted meat over the whole, entire juicy human sitting right in front of it.

Despite himself, he began to review the attacks, trying to think of a single instance where a demon ate a human -- there were disappearances, sure, and assumptions made, but it could as easily have been the case that they got knocked off the cliffside and into the ocean. Demons had killed plenty of hunters and townsfolk, Sam had seen as much, but he couldn't recall ever having found a half eaten corpse and he couldn't believe he'd never thought of that before. In all these years, if the demons were eating them, they should have found at least one corpse that showed signs.

He pushed himself to his feet, his anxiety a strange background now to his confusion, almost blotted out by it, and he stared at the piece of meat in his hand. He glanced up at the demon.

"You want this then, ruby-red-eyes?" 

The demon didn't understand the words, but its eyes were still focused on the meat, and after a second's hesitation, Sam tossed it through the air to the beast and he managed to only wince once when its jaws snapped down around the meat in mid air. It lowered its head, merrily chewing away on the small sample. It didn't take but fifteen seconds to finish its meal and it moved suddenly and frighteningly forward, Sam taking a half step of panic backwards before it was right there, sniffing around him, poking its head into his vest, against his waist, under his raised arms.

"Gods," he cursed under his breath, watching in amazement as a demon, a _demon_ prodded its way around him, searching for more snacks. He licked his lips, pressing them together as he slowly lowered one hand. He paused, breath stilling in his lungs, watching the creature who seemed to be paying him no mind. He lowered the hand a little more, then a little more, then one last inch until his palm spread over the beast's neck. Silky smooth scales pressed up against his skin and he could feel powerful muscles shifting beneath the surface of its skin. He smoothed his hand down the neck, letting his breath out.

"You're nothing like the others," he muttered, but even that turned his mind to wondering, thinking over things it probably shouldn't, and he was half glad when he heard Dean yelling for him from back in the village, though it made him jump minutely.

"Sam! Sam, where the hell are you? We need your help with the granary! Get your boney ass over here!"

"Crap," he said to himself, looking back down at the demon that was now half wound around him. He couldn't help but expect the turn to violence to erupt at any moment, despite all evidence to the contrary, but when he stepped back, the monster let him go, quirking its head to the side.

"I gotta go, Red Eyes... I'll..." He couldn't believe he was about to tell a demon that he'd see them around. That he was going to go looking for it. Courting death, just like his mother, and in the same damned clearing as well. He swallowed down the brief swell of sickness in him. "Maybe we'll see each other again. And...thanks. For saving me."

The demon just watched him, taking him in like he was a puzzle that it could figure out and maybe it could. A shiver ran up his spine, but despite that, despite his fear and the nausea and the dangerous memories of his mother, he knew himself too well: curiosity was an illness he'd never recovered from.

Even as he was running back towards the village, grateful that the demon didn't decide to follow, he knew he'd be coming back.

\-----

It was four days until Sam dared to venture back into the woods in search of the demon.

With the repairs to their village in full swing, he hadn't had much time to himself at all, and the few moments he'd managed to steal for himself were quickly interrupted when someone called for him just as he was stepping into the forest. He didn't want to risk anyone figuring out where he was going or for what reason, so he always veered back into the village, picking up whatever slack someone else had left. By the time that night had rolled around, he only had enough energy to crawl up into his bed and pass out until the next morning.

It ended up being when Dean and Bobby took the trainees out to hunt game on the meadows, sure to be gone for at least a week and the village was relatively calm and settled, that Sam managed to slip away. It helped that Dean wasn't around -- the others didn't tend to keep as close an eye as Dean did, and besides, Sam always felt guiltier about lying to his brother.

Finding the demon didn't turn out to be half so hard as Sam thought it might.

She(because she didn't have the small bulge on the lower stomach that the male demons seemed to have) was sleeping in the clearing, curled around in a ball with her tail tucked over her nose, one wing spread haphazardly out. If Sam didn't find demons terrifying specters of his nightmares, he might have actually found it cute.

Sam watched her sleep for awhile from the other side of the clearing, his mind working through all the things he knew and the things he thought he knew and trying to make sense of it all. The fact that he'd chosen to come looking for the demon was undeniably complicated and fraught with potential future problems that Sam really didn't want to deal with -- especially now when things finally seemed to be going his way.

When the demon woke, she came over to him briefly, inspecting his held stiff form, and even though he knew she was looking for treats, he still had to talk himself through it, breath slowly as she sniffed him. Once she was satisfied that he didn't have anything, she returned to her end of the clearing, settling down, the two of them staring at each other from across the distance, neither of them fully trusting but both of them curious.

It was an odd way to spend a day and Sam knew, intellectually, that it wasn't productive. Still, when he went home, piled himself into his bed, he felt as satisfied as he did when he spent a long day hoeing the field.

Two days later, he came back with more salted meat.

And after that there was no point even pretending to tell himself that he wasn't going to go back.

After a week, he knew her favorite food was fish. After a week and a half, he saw her open her wings for the first time since her flight from the trap -- spreading up and into the sky, so massive and so incredibly beautiful, the bones blacker than the leather between them. After two weeks, he saw her coming back from a hunt, when he'd come to the clearing and found her gone, and she'd come when he'd called.

The day after that, he gave the demon her name: Ruby.

He'd been calling her 'Ruby Red-eyes' for long enough that shortening it seemed appropriate.

It was at that point that he had to acknowledge that this was more than just an intellectual exercise. You didn't name an intellectual exercise. You didn’t start calling for it to come when you wanted it to. If anything, he was treating her like the children treated the village’s working dogs when they took a particular shine to one. Just the thought was enough to make him laugh: a pet demon. Who'd ever heard of such a thing?

The hunters returned from their hunting party almost three weeks after they'd left, with fresh meat piled over their horse's backs and hanging from their saddles. They'd proceeded to spend the next two evenings in the tavern, drinking their victory and continually toasting each other. Sam found the whole thing ridiculous, but it at least kept his brother busy. Once Dean had stumbled out of the drunken stupor though, it was harder to dodge his attention.

He continually had to find good excuses to be away for indeterminable periods of time -- excuses that Dean had no way to check the veracity of, which got more and more challenging the more and more Dean began to notice that Sam was going out all the time. At first, when it was just a few instances, Dean didn't seem to pay him much mind. But it was hard to miss that Sam was vanishing for whole afternoons or evenings every other day, and Sam had never really had to hone the craft of deception. He thought he was pretty good at it frankly, for not having had any practice, but he was better at reading Dean's face than he was at lying and Dean's expression was becoming more and more skeptical with time.

Logically, he knew it would make sense to give things a rest. If he just didn't visit Ruby for a little while, Dean's suspicion would fade and things would go back to normal. After that, sneaking away wouldn't be so hard.

But when Sam waited three whole days to go back, he began to fear that maybe Ruby thought he wasn't returning at all. That maybe she'd take off and head back to the Hell Gate and he'd never see her again. Or worse, that he would see her again -- with her at the sharp end of a pike and him in the path of her hellfire. The thought made him shiver for a number of reasons, several of which he didn't want to think about at all, and the next day he went back with a sizeable halibut to apologize for his absence and hoped that demons understood the concept of apologies.

It turned out, that day was the first time he dared go over and touch her purposefully -- to willfully walk up to her and put his hands on her without any other prompting.

He hadn't planned it. Hadn't even thought of it on the way over. It was just that she was eating the fish and seemed to be distracted and Sam was wondering if she'd still feel the same way: smooth and warm and metallic, scales like silver under his palms. He'd just been thinking about it, wondering if her horns felt the same way or if they were like a ram's horns, flakey and dry. He thought that maybe her wings would feel like leather, but instead of stiff and dead it would be warm and alive with blood, thin skin wrapped around unbelievably delicate bone.

He'd just been wondering, was all.

And then he was edging closer, close enough to feel the warmth of her belly, where she kept that ever living ember of hellfire, where she could summon up liquid heat greater than any flame, and reached out.

When his hand touched her shoulder, she raised her head and looked back at him and Sam stopped breathing.

For a moment, in the clearing, in _that_ clearing, where his mother had dared to touch a demon, where Sam seemed determined to follow in her footsteps, Sam and the demon just looked at each other, regarding each other as only two different creatures could. With some strange mixture of incredulity, wonder, wariness. With a healthy dose of skepticism and awe.

And then, as if nothing at all extraordinary had happened, Ruby turned back to her meal and Sam was standing there, his hand on a demon and not a mark to show for it.

It was that moment, for some reason, of all moments, that Sam realized he'd never be able to see demons the same way.

That his life as a man and a Celt was going to be wholly different than he'd ever imagined.

Over time, he became more confident in approaching Ruby and she got more used to it -- she would even make a rumbling sound in her chest, a thrumming sound of pleasure completely unlike her growls. While he still worried that she'd eventually just fly off and leave, she never did. If he ever did arrive and find the clearing empty, worry starting up a pit in his stomach, it wasn't but a few minutes until Ruby returned, obviously keeping her hunting nearby. He couldn't say he didn't still feel that beat of fear in him when he saw her soaring in over the treetops or that he didn't still hold his breath every time he reached out to touch her, but that was old, ingrained.

And it was getting less with time.

One month after the attack, Sam woke up asleep on Ruby's chest, the demon's head and tail curled around him, smoke lazily crawling out of her nose and into the predawn air, apparently having fallen asleep there the night before.

That was just about when he realized he was completely screwed.

\-----

It was sundown by the time Sam was finished with his work in the fields.

They'd protected the yield from first harvest, which meant that everyone was eating well at the moment, but that didn't mean they could slack off in the fields. A small section had been burned during the attack, but some quick work by some of the other villagers had kept it from spreading to the rest of the crop. Of course, that just meant that the area had to be re-tilled and planted again.

Hopefully they would grow enough to be ready for third harvest.

In the meantime, the rest of the fields had to be looked to, weeds and vines pulled away from the crop, fresh soil tilled, and pests and scavengers scared away. By the time the sun was sinking, Sam was sweaty and tired and eager to get a drink of water. There was a stream not too far from the clearing in the woods and he'd intended to go visit Ruby as he hadn't seen her in a couple of days. The first order of business, however, was locating Dean.

Not to find him, mind, but just to verify that he was no where in the vicinity.

Sam had caught the copious looks that had been cast his way over the last week. Looks of curiosity that had been turning more and more to suspicion lately, and Dean was sometimes a little obtuse, but he wasn't _stupid,_ not by a long shot. Sam wasn't enough of an idiot to think that what he was doing now would be seen as anything other than treason, even if that was the furthest thing from what he wanted.

"Bobby," he announced, walking up to the grizzled hunter and wiping the sweat from his brow. "Have you seen Dean?"

Bobby glanced back from a chart of the fields he was reviewing, hooked hand underneath a thin sheet of parchment, preparing to flip it, and paused as he looked up at Sam.

"Hey," he greeted in return with a quick nod. "Last I heard, he was headed down to the docks."

"Docks?" Sam's brow furrowed. "Why? The fishermen aren't scheduled to go out again for another two days. There's a storm coming in tonight."

Bobby shook his head, expression a little sad.

"Ain't about the fishermen, Sam," he said, and Sam's confusion only doubled, trying to figure out the riddle here as Bobby glanced out at the sea.

"I don't get it. What--" He cut off, though, when the math in his head began to add up, putting days together and cataloguing the time that had passed and somehow he'd completely forgotten to notice.

It had been two months. Two months since their father and most of the hunters had set sail in search of the Hell Gate, and Sam was shocked to realize he hadn't even remembered. Hadn't even been thinking of it, the past couple of weeks. He felt a swoop of guilt when he realized he was a little bit grateful that they hadn't come home yet. After all, there was no doubt that John would figure out that something was up, that Sam was up to something, and the punishment would be so much worse if he was the one who found out that Sam was out making friends with a demon.

But Sam couldn't believe he was the type of person to actually feel grateful when the possibility that his father was dead, that dozens of people had lost their friends and family members, their loved ones, was on the table. Sam getting away with something he already knew was wrong wasn't worth that kind of price, and he knew he should go and see his brother. He'd just feel worse if he went to go see Ruby.

He jogged through the village and out to the cliffside, making his way down the wriggling path, hand occasionally brushing against the rock face at his side. At the base of the cliffs, he walked through the sand and onto the rocks that divided the beach from the seawall, where a flat area had been worn into the stone from generations of fishermen carrying their takes up to Lawrence. Where the two sides of the cliff came close together, the sea flowed in with gentle waves, knocking up against the old wood of the docks, leaving algae and barnacles against the sides. The dark, high walls of rock shadowed the area and it was even colder than it was up top, the water darker despite the shallows.

What was left of their fleet, four boats in total after John and the others had taken the rest, sat moored by the docks, thick heavy ropes tied to keep them in place as they bobbed lazily on the water.

It didn't take Sam long to find Dean.

No one else was there -- with the dark clouds on the far horizon and the heavy scent of rain in the air, there had been the decision to keep the fishermen and their vessels in until the storm past, and once the boats had been checked and their lines secured, there was little else to be done. The seawall, as always, would protect the boats from the worst of it.

Sam walked over the path on the edge of the water and up onto one of the docks. At the end, his brother was sitting on the edge, his legs dangling. Sam approached slowly, his feet making steady thuds on the wood, announcing his approach. He paused when he was right behind Dean, waiting for some kind of acknowledgement that didn't come. Eventually, he moved around to sit down next to his sibling, knees at the edge of the dock and the ocean swaying under his hanging feet. His hands clutched the wood, fingers curling under it, and he glanced at Dean's face but he couldn't read anything off of it.

He wasn't surprised.

He'd used to be able to read Dean like the books his mother taught him the written word in. He used to be able to just look at Dean and _know,_ because the two of them were like peas in a pod, even four years separated. Once, he'd known Dean better than anything in all the world.

Now Dean seemed like a stranger, someone who'd marched into town and taken the place of Sam's brother, and Sam was the only one who noticed. Everyone else treated it like a matter of fact. Like this was what growing up was meant to mean.

As eager as Sam was to be an adult, the thought sometimes made him want to grab Dean and haul him back to childhood, to when both of them were the same and nothing in the world could come between them.

"He wasn't supposed to be gone this long," Dean said, eventually. Sam didn't know how to reply, but tried anyway.

"Did he say how long--"

"No. Just that they were going looking for the Hell Gate. He had that look, though. You know the one. Where he knows something is going on but he doesn't want to talk about it yet."

"The one where he's keeping something from you."

Dean grimaced but didn't argue. It was a point of contention between them -- one of the many. Dean didn't like the way Sam spoke to or about their father, and Sam didn't like how blindly Dean followed the man. On a day like today, though, Sam did his best to avoid the same old arguments. They'd come again and again, and they never got either of them anywhere.

"He'll be back," Sam assured, with no evidence for what he was saying. "He always comes back eventually."

Dean grunted, shrugging his shoulders.

"Remember when he and the other hunters went to clear the last demon nesting ground from the cliffs? They were gone for two whole weeks longer than they expected, but they still came back."

"We were still just kids then."

"So?"

"So, it was easier to lie to ourselves. Dad went out to find the Hell Gate. To find the place where _demons live._ There was always a chance he wasn't coming back. And even worse, he took almost all the hunters with him. Bobby's here, and me, and after that it's just a bunch of kids in training. And hell, I only passed my Gauntlet four years ago."

"Dean, you're an amazing hunter, everyone knows that--"

"That's not the _point!"_ Dean threw his arms up in frustration. "What am I supposed to do? What are _we_ supposed to do? Demons attacked the village, Sam, and we were lucky, damned lucky. _You_ almost _died."_

Sam swallowed but didn't interrupt to correct him. Dean wouldn't really appreciate the point that that particular demon had been there to _save_ Sam.

"We made it through by the skin of our teeth and only because the attack was light. Just a few demons. What happens when the next one comes? Or the next?" Dean continued. "What about the next big wave, when there's two dozen demons in the air and only four hands skilled enough to take them down. Even on the best of days, a hunter can only handle one demon at a time, and that takes _time_ and _effort,_ and a kind of skill that takes years to teach. I just-- I don't know what he was _thinking,_ leaving us vulnerable like this. What am I supposed to do, Sam? I'm the leader here. Everyone's lookin' to me, and I...I don't _know._ Not like Dad did."

"You're doing fine," Sam tried to reassure.

"For now. But how long do we wait? How long are we supposed to hold out here? Dad would never forgive me for leaving, for giving up Lawrence, but if they don't--...if they don't come back, how long are we supposed to hold out? Am I really supposed to force these people to stay here, to dash their lives and the lives of their children just so we can stay that we stuck it out until the bitter end?" Dean's voice was angry and Sam couldn't say he wasn't surprised. He'd never heard his brother talk about their father like this -- even if Dean was only talking about a decision and not the man himself. "We were just barely holding on before, making it out of each demon attack and surviving, and that was with several dozen fully trained hunters. Now... Sam..." Dean shook his head.

The water played a gentle melody, lapping up against the wood, the continuous sound of the sea just beyond the guardian gates of the seawall, and Sam looked over at his brother, at the worry and confusion painted over his face. Sam glanced down, seeing Dean's hand gripping the edge of the dock white knuckled and, on a whim, Sam lifted his own hand. He hesitated, Dean not having invited much in the way of touch for years now, but the storm in Dean's eyes, fierce enough to match that on the horizon, stirred Sam’s confidence.

It was just like reaching out to touch Ruby -- fear and desire to connect, to make things better, warring with each other.

His hand slid carefully over Dean's, covering the ridges of those tight knuckles, covering the back of his hand and letting their fingers lay together. Dean looked up, looked over at Sam, and for a moment Sam was certain that Dean was going to pull away with a frown and dismiss Sam as being nothing but a grabby girl, making sure, always, to keep that lonely distance between them.

But Dean didn't. Instead, he just looked at Sam, the frustration on his face beginning to edge towards a sadness.

"What if he's gone, Sammy? What the hell am I gonna do?"

Sam swallowed and licked his lips, desperate to say the right thing, to not lose this. Even this, just this moment of looking at each other instead of bickering or pushing each other away, had Sam's heart beating a little faster.

"You'll know what to do. I'm sure of it. You've been trained to lead us since you were a kid."

"Yeah? Well, I still don't have any idea what I'm going to do."

"I'm still here. Bobby's still here. Cleric Jim, too. We'll help you."

"I can't leave, Sam. I can't just have everyone pack up and leave. Where would we even go?"

"We'd figure it out, Dean." Sam tried to squeeze the hand beneath his own. "We've survived the demons for generations. We're not weak."

"But that's not how _Dad_ would see it. If he's-- If he's--...If he doesn't make it back, he'd be so fucking disappointed in me if he saw me lead us out of Lawrence. After all our ancestors did to settle the land, after all these years fighting the demons..." Dean shook his head. "He'd never forgive me if I gave up."

"And _you'd_ never forgive you if you stayed and people died because of it," Sam reminded. He slowed himself, taking a breath, not wanting his words to be taken as him advocating that plan. "We'll make that decision when we have to make it. But not yet. We still don't know what happened or if Dad's coming back. You don't have to make the call yet, and besides, no one's going to make you make it alone. You're...you're our leader, but that doesn't mean you're alone. I'm here. And...and all the others," he quickly tacked on, aware that his words were becoming more than a little saccharine.

Dean let out a huff of breath, something like a laugh Sam hoped.

"Yeah, I just..." He sighed. "I thought Dad'd be back by now."

"Yeah... I know." Sam wasn't sure exactly how to feel about their father's absence. He and John didn't exactly get along, and his father's parting words the last time they'd talked still hurt. But they only hurt because he _did_ love his dad. He _did_ want things to be better between them. And the fact that he'd been happier since John left, that he'd been freer, made a stone sink in his stomach.

He wanted to feel like this when his father was around. He wanted his father to look at him and see all the things he had to offer instead of all the things he didn't. He wanted his father to see the worth in him.

But he felt like wishing for something like that was like wishing for the deer to come and lay down and wait for slaughter. It was never going to happen.

And Sam hated that he had to choose between feeling like this and having his father alive and with them.

"He'll come back," he said finally, his belief unsteady but his desire for his family to be safe still whole. At the end of the day, he'd pick his father and brother every time. He couldn't live to see another part of his family lowered into the ground. "He'll come back soon, you'll see. And things will be alright."

"And if he doesn't?"

"And if he doesn't...we'll figure things out. You're not alone," Sam reminded, and he wanted to do something foolish like crawl into Dean's arms or lay his head on his brother's shoulder. He wanted that touch to be as casual and simple as it had been when they were small, but for the moment he was just grateful for whatever he got.

And when Dean's hand slipped out from under his, Sam felt his chest tighten, until that hand came up and rubbed through Sam's hair, roughing it up and making him laugh, making that tightness break and come tumbling out his throat in easy bursts.

"Thanks, Sammy," Dean said when he lowered his hand again, and Sam sat up, trying to comb his hair back from its wildness with his fingers. He glanced to the side and saw Dean smiling at him, teeth bared and eyes like the sea, green and frothy with life. Sam felt himself flush a little and tried to laugh it off, tried to dissipate that unwelcome warmth that had set up shop in him long before he knew what love was or who it was meant to be with.

He'd never had a chance, really. Sam had been in love with his brother since he was a child.

Since he learned how to walk just so that he could stay in Dean's shadow.

Maybe before that, and no one else would ever be able to compare.

"C'mon," Dean announced, pushing his hands against the dock to push himself to his feet, stretching one arm down to offer Sam a hand up. "We should head in before the storm hits."

Sam had taken Dean's palm, pulling himself up, and had just been letting go when Dean mentioned the storm.

"Oh, shit!" he hissed, remembering that he needed to go find Ruby some shelter before the worst of it came in. He didn't know a lot about how demons functioned in regular day to day life, but he was fairly certain that sitting out in a downpour wasn't good for anyone. He quickly noticed, however, that Dean was looking at him funny, expecting Sam to explain his exclamation, and Sam cursed his own, unthinking mouth.

"Uh, sorry. I mean-- There's some stuff I had to do. Before the storm comes in. So..." He gestured meaninglessly and Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Stuff?"

"Yeah, I'll see you back at the house!" he yelled, sprinting away before Dean could ask him any more questions, running over the dock and back to the path that lead up the cliff.

He didn't look back, but he was fairly certain that Dean's suspicious eyes followed him all the way up.

\-----

It's not like Sam didn't know it couldn't go on forever.

He was well aware of that.

It was just he kept behaving like he didn't know, like somehow denial was a spell that he could cast on the world if he believed in it strong enough. That if he acted like everything was fine and nothing was going to go wrong, reality would somehow conform itself to that belief.

He knew that was stupid. He _knew_ it. But that didn't seem to change anything.

After the storm, the fishermen had gone out to sea, the four remaining boats making their way out of the seawall one after the other and out on to the ocean. Sam had ended up going out with them, learning the work of throwing the nets, mending the tears, hauling them in; learning how to tie the knots that were supposed to be slipped and the ones that weren't. He'd even been allowed at the rudder for a little while, the sea air slipping easily through his hair as it was whipped around.

Two days later he was reclining back against Ruby's chest, the demon curled around him in a semicircle, watching avidly as Sam tried to explain knots to her, demonstrating on a short piece of rope he'd brought with him.

"See?" he announced confidently, holding up the rope. "If you just pull the end here like this..." He yanked on the short end of the rope, causing the taut knot to unravel. "It'll untie."

Ruby considered this for a moment, then leaned in to grab the rope from his hands and chew on it, pulling on one end while her forepaws held the other. Sam looked at her flatly, dropping his hands to his ankles, his legs crossed.

"You're a lost cause, you know that?"

Ruby didn't have a chance to respond to his accusations -- though it seemed unlikely she was going to tear her attention away from the rope -- because a second later there was the crinkling of leaves and the snap of a twig and Sam's heart felt like it shuddered to a complete halt in his chest.

"Sam?" Dean's familiar voice asked, coming around a tree. Sam could see the very instant that Dean spotted Ruby. His brother's face went from curious and furrowed to wide and surprised, fear flashing only briefly when he looked at Sam, before his expression became set, anger and determination written across it as he moved suddenly, on pure instinct, bringing his short pike to bear pointing straight down at Ruby from the embankment, obviously not having thought he might need to bring his halberd with him.

Probably because he never expected to find his little brother hanging out with a demon.

Ruby, seeing the foreign human and the weapon she no doubt recognized, snapped to her feet with an elegant hiss, jaws parted and teeth bared, her forked tongue curling at the back of her throat.

Sam hadn't even said or done anything yet and his demon and his brother were already at each other's throats.

"Sam," Dean barked, body rigid and without the slightest quiver, his eyes not moving from Ruby. "Get the hell over here."

Sam swallowed, eyes darting to the side.

"Get the hell over here before that thing eats you."

Sam had options here. He was aware of that much, sitting on the rock where Ruby's warmth was fading from his back, his hands gripping his crossed ankles still. He could get up and walk over to his brother, act scared of Ruby and maybe even convince Dean that he wasn't out in the woods cavorting with a demon. It would be him and Dean versus the demon and this could all go down without Dean knowing just how far out of his mind Sam had gone. But if he did that, Ruby could be hurt. Ruby could die.

And he could see, sitting where he was, that she was standing between him and danger. Protecting him.

He might have been a coward, but never like that.

He couldn't live with himself, if he did something like that.

He got to his feet -- slowly, despite how he wanted to jerk up -- trying to keep things calm, trying to keep both Ruby and Dean from interpreting a movement as a signal to attack each other. He held up his hands in what he hoped was a calming manner, stepping side to side as he edged over in front of Ruby, until the pike was pointing straight at his own chest, and he saw Dean's eyes grow progressively wider.

"Sam," Dean hissed, something like desperation hedging into his voice. "Get. Over here. _Now."_

"No," Sam responded, going for as calm a tone as he could manage when he had a sharp pike pointing at his chest and a massive, growling demon at his back. "If you put the weapon away, she'll calm down."

"She? _She,_ Sam? Are you fucking kidding me? It's a demon! Get the hell over here!"

Dean's raised voice caused Ruby to shift forward, her head coming over Sam's shoulder, wrinkling her lips up, and Sam could see the glow of hellfire sparking in her throat. Dean tensed and his arm drew back to get ready to throw the pike, and it was _stupid_ that both of them were trying to protect Sam.

He turned around, pressing his hands against Ruby's chest, trying to stop her though his weight pressed up against her like it was nothing. She stopped, but Sam knew she could bowl him over any moment.

"It's okay," he murmured to her, rubbing her belly scales. "That's my brother, Dean... I know he's being a freak right now but he won't hurt me. Or you. Okay?"

His hands ran up the base of her neck, desperate to get her calm.

"Please, Ruby... Please, or he'll-- Please, don't hurt him."

"Sam, what the hell is going on here?"

"Dean, just--...please, you gotta put the pike down. I promise you. I _promise_ you. I can get her calm, but you gotta back up some, alright?"

"How the hell do you expect me to back away when there's a _demon_ all around you? Sam--" and this time Dean sounded a little like he was pleading, and gods, how that made Sam want to give in, to go to him. _"Please."_

 _"No._ Put your pike down, and I'll explain."

Ruby was still growling and occasionally spitting, and Sam could see little drops of fire dripping from her jaws, hitting the rock around him and burning into it with quiet fizzles. Sam glanced back over his shoulder, making eye contact with his brother. For a moment, they just stood there like that, looking into each other like it was a staring contest and whoever blinked first would lose -- except this was a game between Dean and Ruby, and the prize on the line was the ability to keep living. Sam tried to beg with just his eyes, seeing indecision in Dean's expression and knowing that pushing too hard now, trying to convince Dean with words, could just as well backfire.

So instead he just stood there, his hands pressed to Ruby's hide, watching with bated breath until Dean seemed to relent, his expression changing minutely, a brief flicker of defeat that Sam never wanted to see again, and he lowered the point of his pike until it faced the ground. Ruby stayed tense under Sam's hand, her growl rumbling through him, until slowly, bit by bit, it faded away.

"Please," he murmured against her scales, ghosting mist over them. "Please."

Her front legs shifted, her flared wings slowly tucking back behind them, and Sam felt himself ease down. When he pushed, she took a single step back, and he sighed out.

He turned around, turned to face Dean, and whatever relief he felt, whatever comfort was left in him, fled at the sight of utter betrayal on Dean's face. The hate in his brother's eyes was old and familiar, as predictable as the moon, but it had never been focused in Sam's direction -- resentment, maybe, disappointment, sometimes, that ever present warning to stay back...always. But never hate.

And never hate with such _sadness._ Like Sam had walked up and thrust a knife into his belly, and Sam realized he might as well have.

"...she saved me," was all he could say in his defense, low and strained. "She's not like the others, Dean, and...she saved me. The night of the attack, what you saw... There was another demon. He went for me, and...I was going to die. I was going to die and she saved me. She fought him off and I would have died if she hadn't."

It didn't seem like enough, not for Dean or for Ruby. One incident of supposed kindness could never be enough to a man who'd devoted his life to hunting demons, who saw them as more than just pests but as evil, as the murderers of his mother and the enemy of his people. To someone who's hatred was soul deep and searing harsh.

One incident of fleeting kindness could never be enough to sum up who Ruby was -- the person Sam had found inside of her. An animal, certainly, but a person nonetheless. It could never sum up the last few weeks, getting to know someone Sam could describe as a friend -- perhaps his best friend. The only person Sam could think of who actually saw him.

Dean was his brother, and that would always mean the world to Sam, but that didn't mean he could just step away from Ruby and give up every last piece of himself that he valued. Betray what he believed to be true.

"...I'm sorry, Dean," was all he could come up with, knowing it wasn't nearly enough, but he didn't step away from Ruby.

"Sam," Dean's voice was tight, restraining a kind of rage that Sam never thought he'd see directed at him, and he was almost afraid of it. "I don't even know where to _begin_..."

Sam swallowed.

"Just...promise me you won't kill her." He was pushing it. He knew he was pushing it. He felt Ruby settle down behind him as Dean's eyes widened.

"Promise you-- Do you have any idea what you're _saying?_ She's a _demon,_ Sam. I should--She should already be dead! She should have my pike in her hide and you--"

Ruby's growl started up again as Dean's voice rose in intensity and volume, menacing snarls leaving her mouth as her lips curled upwards again.

"No...No, hush," Sam murmured, turning back to her. He lifted his hands to take Ruby's nose in them, despite Dean's hissed _'No!.'_ Ruby gentled hesitantly, her eyes flicking between Sam and Dean, still dubious, but, it seemed, willing to trust. Sam hummed meaningless words and sounds to her, working her down until her eyes shuttered and he heard her begin to thrum. He sighed out, feeling her butt her head against his chest, and he scratched under her chin.

"Gods," he heard Dean's voice, full of despair, behind him. "Gods, Sam. What have you done?"

"She saved my life, Dean..." Sam licked his lips, knowing he shouldn't push it. Knowing he shouldn't say more, but his damned instinct to try, to always want more, pushed the words from his mouth. "She saved my life and...it's just like Mom always said."

He heard Dean suck in a breath of air but continued.

"It's just like she always told us, Dean. We don't have to be afraid of them. They're not going to hurt us--"

"Shut up, Sam."

"We don't have to kill them or fight with them. Maybe they're not _all_ like this, but...But Ruby is. She was right. Mom, I mean."

"Shut _up,_ Sam."

"All her stories...they weren't just fairy tales. They really were real, and we could--"

 _"Shut up!"_ Dean's voice exploded, and Sam felt Ruby jerk under his hands. "Gods, shut your _mouth,_ you stupid-- Do you think I want to hear this from you? Here? _Here?_ In _this_ clearing? To find you _here,_ with your hands on a demon..."

"Dean..." Sam turned.

 _"No._ You shut your mouth, I don't want to hear it. You're just like her, you know that? You go running off without telling anyone, without telling your _family._ Go running into the woods so you can get eaten by a demon. Fine. You know what? You want to end up like Mom so badly? You go right the hell ahead." Dean shook his head, eyes pressed tight shut.

"Dean--" Sam tried again, heart aching.

"I can't believe you would do this." His next words were whispered, and when he looked up, eyes rimmed with red, Sam felt his chest clench, guilt heavy in his stomach. "I can't believe you'd do this to our people. To...to our family."

 _To me,_ Sam heard unsaid and he swallowed dryly, unable to find any words to reply, his head just shaking back and forth faintly, at what, Sam hardly knew.

"So you're coming back with me. You're coming back with me _right now._ And I won't kill your precious demon. But this... _This?_ It ends. Right now." Dean stared at him for a moment, but Sam knew it wasn't to give Sam time to object. It was just time to let the final strings of that bond sever. Dean's hands were white tight around the shaft of the pike, his jawline fixed and defined with tension, and then he was turning away.

Sam looked up at Ruby, her red eyes wide and uncomprehending, and Sam felt guilt in so many ways from so many different sources, he didn't even know how he could keep breathing.

"Ruby..." He touched her nose, slid his hand up the plates on her face, up to her forehead, and her thrumming rumbled through him, chittering to him softly, questions in her voice. She had no idea what was happening. No idea he wouldn't be able to see her again. "Ruby."

He pressed his nose against her's, felt the steady blasts of her breath, and could still smell the burn of her hellfire in the clearing, and gods, Dean was right. He was just like his mother, as affected by her madness.

Except he didn't believe it was madness anymore.

But he supposed his mother never did either.

"Sam!" Dean's voice came again, a bark of a command that Sam had always so willfully fought against. But not this time. _"Now."_

"...bye, Ruby," he breathed, and began to back away.

Ruby crooned, stretching her neck out towards him.

"Goodbye." He stared at her, the blood red of her eyes so bright against her black scales and Sam realized, for the first time in so very long, since his mother had taken him out of bed that night, he wasn't afraid. He was looking at a demon, looking at her not three feet away, and he wasn't afraid.

Only heartbroken.

He couldn't watch anymore and he turned to jog up the embankment, hearing Ruby chirp in confusion. He caught up to Dean, but walked a half step behind him, his gaze cast downwards.

Dean didn't look at him once, all the way back to the village, and didn't say a word.

\-----

_"Tell me about the demonriders," Sam demanded, when asked what story he'd like that night, his blankets pulled up under his chin._

_"Not again," Dean groaned, yanking his own sheets up over his head in frustration. Their mother just chuckled, settling herself down next to Sam's bed._

_"Don't mind your brother," she murmured, sweet smile on her lips, like she was spilling secrets. "It's natural for you to want to know. You're like me -- given to the bond."_

_Sam screwed up his face in confusion. He remembered his mother saying it before, weeks ago when he'd found the book, but he still didn't understand._

_"What does that mean?"_

_"It means that you have something inside of you." She laid her hand over his small chest. "A power that you can't see or sense. A power that you cannot use -- it is a power that only a demon can use, should you give it to them. It would make them greater and stronger than any other creature. That power is like a beacon inside of you, shining out into the night, and they can see it."_

_Sam couldn't help but tense up at that, clinging to the soft furs laid out over him. He'd seen the demons a few times -- dark shapes moving around in the night, their eyes glowing like faerie lights dancing through the mists -- as well as the demon at the frog pond. His mother said that there was nothing to fear, that they wouldn't hurt him, and Sam had never heard of a demon hurting anyone, but his father frowned whenever his mother brought them up, and they still scared him, so huge and yet strangely quiet on their paws. And when they opened their mouths, when they screamed, it was like the gates to hell opening, a terrible roar that echoed over the highlands, no matter how far away they were._

_Sam didn't like the idea of them being able to see him._

_Maybe if he stayed under his sheets it would hide the light inside of him. Maybe they wouldn't see it._

_"Don't be scared," his mother said, and pressed her other hand to her own chest. "I have it too. Not as bright as yours, not even by half...but enough."_

_"You do?"_

_"Yes... It's nothing bad. Nothing that could ever harm you. And, perhaps, one day you will find a demon to bond with, to give that power."_

_Sam frowned._

_"I don't want to," he said, watching the way the candle light reflected off of her hair. "Dad says the demons are dangerous."_

_His mother frowned, shaking her head._

_"Your father is a very good man, but he doesn't always understand everything about the world." She reached out, brushing Sam's bangs away from his forehead. "You see, he wants to keep you safe. Keep you protected."_

_"From demons?"_

_"...yes," she answered, with some hesitation, and Sam could see behind her that even Dean was leaning forward curiously -- apparently this was something new, something that even Dean wanted to know, and that made Sam want to know too._

_"But you said that we don't have to be scared of them. That they won't hurt us."_

_"Most of them, yes. But...there is one demon. A demon called the Yellow Eyed Death. He is different from all the others, and you two must always be wary of him."_

_"Why?" Dean asked._

_"Because he is very dangerous. The bond is a trade -- the demon gives half of their life to their rider, and the rider gives them half of their soul, so that they are one. But the Death... He is different. He will take without giving, take without_ asking, _and he would use the power inside of you for evil."_

_Sam felt fear creep through him, something cold in his mother's words. She was looking towards him but at nothing at all._

_"Why?" Dean asked, his voice calm and unperturbed, unaffected by the fear that Sam was feeling or the trance that had seemed to come over their mother._

_"You know the stories of the time before," she said, voice soft like the wind on a lonely autumn day. "When humans rode the demons and came to bond with them..."_

_Both boys nodded, eager for her to continue._

_"There is another story. One that we don't tell often in the south." She looked down at her hands in her lap. Sam had always thought she had the most delicate hands, small and beautiful, and he hoped his hands would be like that one day -- hands that could spin stories instead of wool, fingers that could paint pictures in the air. "The story of how it ended -- how that ancient civilization crumbled. How we lost the bond."_

_Sam almost sat up, even though he knew he wasn't supposed to, his need to know getting the better of him. Their mother had told them about the demonriders so many times, told them fantastic tales of the people who came before them, hundreds of years ago, but she'd never mentioned why it ended beyond the vague reply of 'war.'_

_She pursed her lips, ran her teeth over them, and then spoke again, her eyes still focused downwards._

_"Hundreds of years ago, there was one demon that was celebrated over all the rest. It was said that he was the largest demon ever hatched -- taller than a palace, stronger than seven teams of oxen, and his wings could black out the sky. They said his eyes were like gold. Like honey amber. But the beauty of his form was not reflected in his heart. The stories are brief and broken apart, all the details lost to time and fear, but the tale goes that he betrayed his rider and all of humanity."_

_"How?" Dean asked, in a rare show of interest._

_"No one knows." Their mother turned enough to look over her shoulder at him. "Whatever it was that happened, it is lost to the ages... All that we know is that after that, everything changed. The demons began to change. Bondings stopped. They flew against us, raining down fire and violence." Her expression turned sour. "They were controlled, like puppets."_

_"Controlled? By who?" Dean pushed._

_"Whom, honey."_

_"By_ whom?" __

_"By the one we call the Yellow Eyed Death. No one knows how, but he controlled them, used the other demons like little more than tools. Having little choice, the humans fought back, and the walls of their cities came tumbling down under the demons' might. In time, very few people remembered that the demons had once been our allies. The name for them, even, has faded from our tongue."_

_"But they_ do _have a name," Dean pointed out. "Demons."_

_"No," their mother shook her head. "Once, we called them something else. Something far more beautiful. It was only after the war that we turned to calling them monsters and forgot all that the bond had given us, all the wonderful things we'd made together -- even their name. The Yellow Eyed Death forced the demons to kill, and, in turn, the humans, my ancestors and yours, hunted them down until all the demons in the south were dead and gone. All, save the Death."_

_"What happened to him?" Sam asked quietly, almost afraid to know the answer, as if the story would end with his mother pointing to the window and a great yellow eye peering in at them. Almost as if the creature was waiting for him just behind the shadow of his bed._

_"He lived on, for hundreds of years after the war had become nothing more than stories. Long after the true name of demons disappeared from our lips. Every century, he would demand a sacrifice from my people. One person of his choosing, and that person would never be heard from again." She paused, but neither Dean nor Sam spoke, Sam holding on to his breath as if it could protect him from this unseen but powerfully sensed threat. "When I was younger, the demon came to call. He came to the walls of our city, and the king of that land already knew what to do. He knew the stories, the words written into law: any child the demon chose was to be given, without pause or question. And for one hundred years, he would darken our skies no more."_

_She licked her lips, something strange in her eyes, an uncertainty that Sam was only used to seeing in himself, never his parents. Never the parents who were so strong and confident and knew everything and were never afraid._

_"But the king never expected that the demon would chose the king's own daughter. At first, the king thought the demon was doing it out of spite. Perhaps he still believes that, to this day. But the princess knew better. She knew that she was a demonrider, one with the glow of the bond, of power that the Death wanted to possess, and she knew that the demon could see it. So the night before she was to be offered, she packed whatever she could into a bag and she ran away, ran outside the city walls and into the wilderness, never to be seen again, to escape the gaze of the Death."_

_Sam was biting his lower lip, trying to imagine what that would be like -- being all alone, wondering if a terrible demon was after him. Having no mother or father or big brother to protect him, and how deep and dark the woods would seem. He gripped his bedding tighter, hating the thought._

_"What happened to her?" he asked, wanting to know that there was a happy ending, that everything would work out okay, just like it always did in all his mother's tales._

_The expression on Dean's face was grim, looking straight at their mother and_ knowing _something that Sam didn't know, and he wanted to understand. He wanted to know like Dean knew._

_His mother looked at Sam and smiled, that strange, distant sadness fading from her eyes._

_"She ran away to a distant land, very far away from here, and she met a wonderful man and had many wonderful children. The demon never found her, and she lived happily to the end of her days."_

_Sam let out a long breath of relief, his mother's word the only thing that could convince him that the world was just as it should be -- where good people got good things and lived without any more strife or pain. Where the wicked were punished and the virtuous were rewarded, and the world made sense._

_Dean made a 'pfft' noise and threw himself back into his bed._

_"Now, both of you, to sleep... Your father will be very displeased if you're not up early for chores tomorrow."_

_Sam made a face, not looking forward to getting up and out into the cold of the snow to help Dean muck the stalls. Dad always told them that everyone pitched in here -- everyone worked so that everyone could eat -- but Sam figured he still got to make a face about it._

_Their mother got up, dress swirling around her ankles as she moved over to Dean's bed, leaning down to kiss his forehead, running her hand over his hair._

_"Goodnight, Dean," she murmured, the words familiar but the tone even more so, enough to make Sam's eyelids droop, something written into him._

_"Night, Mom."_

_She walked back across the room, over to Sam, and Sam closed his eyes and scrunched up his nose when she kissed his forehead. She didn't say 'goodnight' though. Sam waited for it, breathed out, then opened his eyes, blinking up at her. She was looking at him consideringly, her hand still against his hair, thumb brushing over his forehead so very lightly. There was something sad about her and Sam didn't understand._

_She leaned down and murmured into his ear:_

_"You must always beware the Yellow Eyed Death, Sam," she whispered, and her voice made his heart stop beating in his chest. "The others believe he is a myth, or if not, dead and gone, but I know better. He killed them, the ones he took. He killed them one by one, while he sacrificed the other demons to his cause and took our people to keep his power. And as sure as he is evil, he will come for me. And one day, for you. You mustn't let him have you, Sam. Whatever happens, you mustn't let him have you. No matter what."_

_Sam felt a cold shiver run through him and he watched his mother straighten out, looking down at him. Her eyes were like glass, like the sea in winter, some strange, bright light reflected in them where Sam should have been, and she looked like a stranger._

_Sam wanted it to go. To go away. He wanted his mother to come back, warm and loving and beautiful -- not this hardened, distant survivor, someone who'd fought and clawed to get even this much, and would do it again if she had to. She kissed the side of his head, and Sam didn't want her to, didn't want it because this_ wasn't _his mother, not like he knew her to be, but the peck was brief and then she was gone, picking up the candle and disappearing out of the door with her dress shifting through the air behind her._

_The light receded and Sam rolled over on to his side, away from Dean and facing the wall, pulling his blankets in tight around him to keep out the cold and the encroaching fear. On the other side of the room, he could hear his brother settling down for sleep and it brought only a cursory comfort._

_That night he dreamed of yellow eyes and blackened claws trying to tear his soul out of him, as he tried to clutch it tight and not let go._

_He_ never _wanted to bond with a demon._

\-----

After the incident in the woods, Dean watched Sam like a hawk.

Any moment that Sam thought he was alone and could slip away, Dean would appear out of nowhere, a stormy expression on his face, and Sam would have to stomp back into the village. When Sam went to the stream to get water, Dean would follow him. When Sam went to the stables to care for the horses and muck the stalls, Dean would watch him. When Sam was talking with other members of their clan, when Sam was tilling the soil in the fields, when Sam went to the cliff's edge to watch for sign of their father and the other hunters, Dean was there.

It was driving him insane.

Never before had Sam not wanted his brother's attention.

It was a bizarre sensation because Sam had spent his childhood chasing after his older brother, always tumbling along in Dean's footsteps and trying to fill them up. When they'd both been small, before their mother's death, they'd been almost inseparable. Dean had guarded Sam like a ferocious beast, angry and determined, but after their mother passed, things had changed. Dean had always been destined to become a hunter, just like Sam was, just like their father had been, but Dean'd never wanted it with such passion before. Not until after they'd laid their mother in the ground, Dean's eight year old eyes fierce and bone dry, while Sam sobbed next to him, trying to wipe away the tears as the hunters threw dirt down on her coffin.

Sam had come to his brother that night, crawled into his bed like always, but this time needing him even more because their mother wasn't there to soothe away any nightmares. Dean had rolled away though, turned his back to Sam, and less than a year later he'd told Sam that he was too old to be creeping into other people's beds -- that he needed to sleep in his own.

Dean had become an enigma overnight, it seemed. He'd started growing, becoming strange and tall, had started running and training, his skin morphing to cover the foreign shapes of his muscles. His laughter had waned and then vanished completely, and in his teens, Dean's smiles had been reserved for nights around the table with the boys, the warmth of ale in their bellies as they cracked crude jokes that Sam was too young to understand. Sam hadn't understood where his brother had gone, but he felt like he'd been searching for him ever since.

Some kind of life long quest for a person that didn't exist anymore.

Now, Sam finally had his brother's attention, finally had the gaze he'd missed so much for so long and he just wanted it gone.

It was a deep and bitter irony that made Sam laugh without mirth, trying to shirk his brother at any time of the day he saw a chance. After all, it seemed like he'd always been trying to chase Dean down, pin Dean down, get his brother to actually _see_ him again, see him as he really was -- and now, when all of Dean's focus was directed at him, Sam was doing everything in his power to lose it.

It just cemented Sam's theory that the gods hated him.

"What're you doing, Sam?" a dry voice asked, not entirely unexpected but entirely unwelcome, and Sam sighed, halfway to the woods and half hoping he was in the clear.

"Nothing, Dean," he responded without any attempt to veil his disappointment.

"Doesn't look like nothing."

"Oh?" Sam turned, looking over his shoulder at his brother. "What does it look like then?" he challenged, sorely wishing that Dean would just bring the damned topic up, instead of just eternally avoiding it.

"Like you're sneaking off. Avoiding chores."

"Yeah? Maybe I just saw some berries over by the treeline. Would be nice to have some of those in our stores, you know."

Dean's eyes narrowed.

"Sam," he said. "All the berries in the woods here are poisonous."

"Well." Sam threw his arms out to either side, giving his brother a sickly exaggerated grin. "Never know unless you try, right?"

With that he turned fully, stomping back to the village and past Dean, except his brother's hand whipped out, catching Sam's wrist and stopping him, arm extended.

 _"What?"_ Sam whirled back around.

"What the hell, Sam!?" Dean launched back at him. "Don't act like _I'm_ the crazy one. You're the one hanging out with--" his yelling ceased then, dropping to a hissed whisper, "--a _demon_ in the woods. What is wrong with you?!"

"There's nothing wrong with me. Did you see her attacking me? Huh? Did you see her doing _anything_ bad?"

"What does that matter?"

"What does it matter? Gods, Dean, do you even listen to yourself? You really don't care whether someone did something wrong or not before you go off hunting them?"

"Someone? _Someone?!_ Sam, they are not _‘someones.’_ They are fucking monsters!!"

Sam yanked his arm back, pulled it from Dean's grasp with one twisting jerk, feeling anger and loneliness sweep through him and he wished, not for the first time, that his mother was still alive. She would have understood. She always had.

"Mom didn't think so," Sam murmured, voice bitter and defiant if soft.

"Yeah? Well, because of that, Mom's _fucking dead!"_ Dean snapped, and Sam's eyes widened, and he could see the moment it hit Dean, the moment that anger was washed away in a sea sweep of emotion, going pale and shocked.

"Dean..." Sam started, wanting to touch despite his anger, taking a half step forward and reaching out towards his brother.

"Don't," Dean snapped, taking a quick step back. His lips were pursed tight, and Sam didn't know what to say. That wasn't new. Sam never knew what to say, not to his family. Not to make things right.

He'd been trying for years to get them to understand him, never to much success.

The two of them stood there in silence, at an impasse. Sam was still unwilling to back down, unwilling to give in this time, but he wasn't cold hearted enough to overlook the expression on Dean's face -- torn and lost. Sam loved his brother but he wasn't sure what kind of person he'd be if he gave in now, agreed to the killing of innocent creatures, just because he wanted to see Dean smile.

He couldn't do that to Ruby.

He couldn't do that to the memory of his mother.

There was a rustling in the woods and Dean jumped and turned to the side, drawing a short sword with as much ease and immediacy as a breath, his place as a hunter bone and blood deep. Sam felt himself tense as well, automatic, but without the brazen urge to fight, and he saw a dark shape moving amongst the trees. He realized what it was almost immediately but that didn't seem to stop his instinctive response -- the sharp and sudden desire to run -- and he had to take a slow breath to calm himself. Dean, however, only tensed and readied further when he made out Ruby's head pushing out from the foliage on her long neck.

Her bright red eyes spotted Sam almost immediately and she began to thrum in pleasure.

 _"Ruby,"_ Sam scolded, as emphatic as he could get it while keeping his voice low, and hurried over to the demon, who was already trying to make her way out of the woods and into the open where anyone could see her. "No no no! Back, c'mon girl...back up."

Sam reached up, putting his hands on her snout and stopping her forward progress, his touch easing her sufficiently, it seemed, and she was content to laze, half in and half out of the brush. Sam stroked a hand down the smooth line of her muzzle, the flat shiny plates that covered the bone, and Ruby's thrumming increased. He could hear her tail thrashing around in the greenery.

"Gods, calm down, you big freak..." he murmured, lifting one hand to rub behind her forehorns.

"Sam, get that thing the hell out of here, or I swear I'll--"

"Dean!" Sam whipped his head around to glare at his brother. "You're the one who kept me from going into the woods for days. She came looking for me! She was worried!"

"Demons don't worry about people, Sam! They _eat_ people!"

"Does she look like she's planning on eating me?"

"Just because you managed to befriend the thick demon doesn't mean that demons are all our cuddly friends!" Dean was still holding his weapon, taut and ready, and Sam tightened his arms around Ruby's head, worried that his brother would break his word and come at her. "What is wrong with you, anyways? You used to be terrified of demons!"

"What? And now you're mad that I'm _not?"_

"Yes!" Dean responded emphatically and threw his arms wide, apparently forsaking any attempt at combat readiness. "At least fear was in the right direction! You're a demon hunter. A demon _hunter._ That means you _hunt_ them and you _kill_ them."

"It's not like I was doing a bang up job with that before!"

"Yeah, good one there, Sam. Remind me that you already sucked as a Celt _before_ you turned traitor!"

The anger churning in Sam's belly stopped cold and sudden, doused like a fire by the ocean, and he expected for Dean to realize what he'd just said, to understand what idiocy had just come charging out of his mouth like a fox after the hare, but Dean's brow was furrowed and set, his eyes steely, and Sam's stomach dropped when he realized his brother had just called him a traitor and meant it. It hurt like how he'd always imagined a knife in the chest would, like he couldn't breath even though he tried to because he refused to lose face in this.

"Fuck..." he took an unsteady lungful of air, needing it, needing it for words. "Fuck you, Dean."

It came out weak and thready, a bare whisper and nothing at all like anything strong. He felt Ruby nose in against him. She didn't know words, but she wasn't stupid. She'd always known when he was upset.

"We are your _people,_ Sam. You were supposed to fight with us, fight beside us, and yeah, we were embarrassed by you before -- running away like some little kid, tail between his legs, but at least we could understand the feeling. If I'da known you were going to end up becoming friends with a demon, I'd have been happy to be ashamed. This is just you looking for another way for you to turn your back on your people. Your _family."_

Sam's hand clenched around Ruby's horn, and he knew she couldn't feel it -- couldn't feel it like he could feel the hand around his guts, squeezing. He'd never loved anyone quite like he'd loved Dean. Even their mother and her warm memory couldn't quite compare to the tall figure his unshakeable sibling cut in his life -- cut into the middle of him. Dean was indelible, a tattoo on Sam's skin that only Sam could see, invisible to the world but sacred to Sam. The lines by which he defined everything around him.

Good and evil. Right and wrong. Family and not.

And he never thought he'd be standing on the other side of that line from Dean.

And he never thought there'd be anything that would stop him from crossing it if Dean asked.

But Sam couldn't kill Ruby or step aside and let Dean do it. She wasn't evil. Not like Sam knew killing her would be. Their mother had believed in something more, had worked for something more. As he'd grown up without her, Sam had never understood why she couldn't let it go. If she'd let it go, maybe she'd still be alive, still be with him. He'd always wished she'd chosen them over her dreams and stories.

But for the first time, Sam understood, because he was about to sacrifice family to follow the very same path.

"...I'm sorry, Dean," was all he could say, and he heard Ruby croon in worry. He looked down at her, at the crimson eyes that had terrified him so much at first, at all the horns and black scales and all the things that he'd once seen in his nightmares, now looking up at him questioningly in his hands. She wasn't evil. No matter what anyone said.

And if she wasn't evil, that meant that maybe not every demon was evil.

And that meant that Sam could never kill them -- or advocate their killing.

He moved around Ruby's bulk, stepping over the bramble thorns and into the woods. Ruby's scales scraped against the foliage, quiet _snicts_ and _snacts_ as she turned, following him.

"What the--" Dean's voice started, like this wasn't the reaction he was expecting. Like maybe calling Sam a traitor was supposed to change his mind and make him want to stay. His next words were filled with anger and exasperation. "Are you serious, Sam?" He paused. "Sam? Sam! Answer me!"

 _"What?"_ Sam bit out. "What more could you possibly have to say?"

"You’re a selfish bastard, you know that? You just do whatever you want. Don’t care what anybody thinks."

"That’s what you really think?" Sam couldn't imagine a world like that. A world where he didn't hang on Dean's words, where he didn't search for his father's approval. A world where he didn't fight himself every day to try and be the person his clansmen looked for.

"Yes, it is," and Dean's words bit like ice coming off the sea in winter. Sam winced, but it only steeled his resolve.

He could betray Dean, in the end. But he couldn't betray himself.

"Then this selfish bastard is going with the demon."

"Come on, you're not serious."

"I am serious."

"Sam, you can't-- I'm not coming after you this time, you hear me? I will leave your ass!"

"That's what I want you to do!" he shouted back, turning away.

He heard Dean make a sound of disgust, but Sam didn't turn back. His hand was on Ruby's neck, feeling the heat of her great body through her scales, and it felt a little bit like that contact was the only thing keeping him upright, but he kept walking.

He was, it turned out, his mother's son.

\-----

That first night away from the village, back in the woods again, this time under the shelter of Ruby's wing, Sam dreamt of the south.

He dreamt of fields of barley and wheat, of the open meadows and hills rolling gently under the skin of the earth. He dreamt of vast, pale skies, not blue like the sea but blue like his mother's eyes, dotted only with the white light of the clouds, their shadows only serving to show off the rays of the sun as they split over their edges. He dreamt that the wind whistled slow and sweet and spread the scent of summer through the sheaves of grain, sticking to his clothes and in his hair. He could hear the birds -- singing songs instead of sharp cries of warning, not the harsh call of the sea birds, but the melodic twitters he'd only ever heard come from his mother's cheap imitation.

He was standing in the low land, long and flat, and in the distance he could see the rise of a hill, free and clear of the mess of the forest. The air was dry, no scent of rain or rot. All around him the world was blank and alive, and he could turn in every direction and see possibility. All the promises of his mother over his crib, woven into the dirt and just waiting for him to whisper to them to let them grow.

When he woke up, it was night time and drizzling, cold water dripping dully onto Ruby's wing and sliding down the tender bones and into the damp earth. Sam shivered, goosebumps all over his skin. He hadn't brought a blanket( _again_ ), or any supplies, really.

He'd just up and walked away from his village, from his people, and there wouldn't be anyone to come and look for him.

He didn't have food, or a change of clothes, or anything to keep him warm and dry. His people fought every day and night to survive, so this hard and rugged patch of land wouldn’t consume them completely, so the sea wouldn't smash them into pieces against the shore. How the hell was he supposed to last without even the most basic of provisions? How was he supposed to survive all alone when dozens of men and women working together could barely eke out an existence on the shoreline?

"Ruby," he murmured to his demon, and he heard a rumble shiver through her chest as she shifted. "I think we are well and truly fucked."

She grumbled again, in what Sam could only assume was agreement.

The only warmth was from his demon's heated skin, and Sam was loathe to leave her side, her body his only provision and shelter, but he knew that shivering in a ball on the forest floor wasn't going to get him anywhere. It took him about half an hour, but he finally rolled over onto his hands and knees, crawling out from under Ruby's wing. Her eyes were glowing in the night, watching him, and she reached up to scratch at him with her talons. He batted her away, and she chattered to herself in amusement, poking and picking at him in play until he finally managed to escape.

He huffed a soft laugh and couldn't help but appreciate that she'd somehow managed to put a smile on his face, even after everything. Even after the predicament he found himself in.

The woods didn't provide a lot of uncultivated food. Most of what Sam's people ate they had to grow themselves, the woods having been picked clean by their ancestors a long time ago, but there were still things here and there that were safe and edible, even if they weren't tasty, and Sam was more than well versed in the ways of the woods. He remembered when he was small and his brother would show him what was safe and what wasn't -- what not to touch, and how to walk to avoid the brambles and nettles.

He remembered him and Dean finding a rare treasure trove of hazel nuts, eagerly breaking them open with rocks, barely managing not to mangle their small fingers in their fits of laughter, watching the shells crack and splinter, then feeding each other the sweet meat of the nut inside. There wouldn't be any hazel nuts today. Nor any Dean.

Sam swallowed that thought down and continued picking his way through the disheveled brush, every step shaking freezing water droplets onto his already wet clothes, the cloth sticking to his skin. His flesh was goosepimpled and rigid with the cold, the earth loathe to give up any of the heat it had stored during the day, and Sam moved his fingers tenderly out from the last heat of his palm, using them to push plants aside as he searched through the darkness.

There wasn't much to be found, but he ended up almost treading over a small patch of dandelions, still young enough that their taste wouldn't be too bitter, and Sam crouched down to jam them in his mouth. They did little to still his hunger, but they'd keep the edge away for a few more hours.

Only the gods knew what Sam would do then, but that was a problem for the Sam a few hours from now.

The Sam here and now intended to return to Ruby before he lost his fingers.

He tucked his hands up under his armpits and stumbled back through the drizzle, feeling the water drip down through the canopy and onto the back of his neck, running down the ridges of his spine and into his shirt. He shuddered at the icy cold sensation and hurried his steps, emerging back into Ruby's clearing, and he could see only by the light of her eyes as she looked at him wonderingly.

"Yeah, I know," he mumbled through chattering teeth. "You don't feel the cold."

Ruby quirked her head to one side and chirped in curiosity.

Sam moved across the gully, the cold making him fumbling and inelegant, and he almost twisted his ankle on the rocks before Ruby stretched out a wing, grabbing his clothing with the claws on the main knuckle.

"...thanks," he said, once he'd pulled himself up to her, and she'd tucked him back in against her side, like he was her little cub or demon kit, and the thought made Sam laugh. He'd never considered how demons multiplied. He supposed that somewhere there were nests of the little buggers, all cheeping and snapping their tiny jaws, eyes unusually huge in their heads. He'd never tried to imagine a baby demon before, and he wondered if they were born live or from eggs, if they came one at a time or in litters.

He wondered, now, if he'd find out.

"Not like I have anywhere else to be, hmm, Ruby?" he asked, pressing in against the barrel of her chest, feeling it expand and contract, feeling the stretch of her leathery skin underneath her scales. He didn't explain his thoughts but it wasn't necessary. It wasn't as if she understood him. But she stared at him like she was interested anyways, like what he said mattered, and he laughed when he realized that the only person in the world who genuinely wanted to listen to him didn't understand a word he said.

It figured that the only person that thought he had something worthwhile to say would be a demon.

"What do you think, girl?" he asked, reaching up to scratch under her chin. He found the spot just under the small hooked ridge there, rubbing the tender skin on the bottom of her jaw. She thrummed in contentment, eyes wincing shut. "Should we just go back to where your kind live? Would you show me the Hell Gate? The first human ever to see it, I'd reckon, if my dad hasn't already gotten there... Not that I'd last long. I'm sure one of your brethren would be happy to disabuse me of my limbs."

He couldn't bring himself to kill the demons, not knowing that the beast under his blade could well be like Ruby, but that didn't make him naive. The Celts had been fighting the demon horde for years -- there'd be no loving welcome for him if Ruby took him back to her people.

There'd be no loving welcoming for him back at Lawrence either. First his father, now his brother, and after them, who would have him? The others had always seen him as a burden and a liability anyway. If he went back, dragging his pride behind him, no one would be there with anything remotely resembling open arms. He even wondered, in his darker musings, if it would be something worse -- something like Dean muttering 'traitor' into the crowd in the tavern, and that mutter spreading until everyone knew how Sam had betrayed his blood, his people, his ancestors and all the honor of his great house. That, should he chose to return, there might be pikes and swords drawn and ready to end a son that was certainly no longer a Winchester.

And the worst part was that he still didn't think he could look at Dean and not love him.

It was in the marrows of Sam's bones, so deep that it pumped with every thump of his heart, made up his skin and his hair and his eyes. He saw the world through eyes tinted with it, blurred by that affection, touched the world with fingers that sought only one presence. And it didn't bode well that even now, even alone and shivering, with Dean's anger still resounding in his ears, that Sam would still beg for it if he had a chance. That he still, more than anything else, just wanted his big brother to look at him and see him.

Strangely, it was that, more than anything, that convinced him that he couldn't go home.

Ruby shifted, her head lifting as she stretched her jaws wide open, yawning, and even as inured to her as he'd become, Sam couldn't help the instinctive little shiver at the sight of her teeth, pretty pearly gems lining her open mouth. She smacked her lips together when her mouth closed, and she began to rise to her feet.

"Woah, where are you going?" Sam asked, forced to rise with her as she pulled her wing out from under him. She shook herself suddenly and violently, spraying water everywhere, and Sam covered his face. She flexed her wings out and looked at him consideringly, though Sam didn't know what for. Then, all of a sudden, something like a snake was twisting its way around Sam's middle and he jumped, trying to snatch it off of him before he felt the familiar glide of Ruby's scales and realized it was her long tail.

"What the-- Ruby?" he asked, looking down at his chest, then up at her. "What're you doing?"

He didn't have time to wonder, though. In the next instant he was being lifted off the ground with a weak yell, his legs kicking as he was transported through the air and set down on Ruby's narrow back. His hands flew down instantly to clutch at the spines on her withers. He had enough presence of mind to wonder how the hell he wasn't being skewered by one of those very spines, as they ran all the way down Ruby's neck and back, but he rocked himself to the side enough to see that she'd laid flat the spine that he was sitting on, so that it didn't stick straight up.

"Ruby--" he started again, but didn't get far as the demon reared onto her back legs, stretching her wings to their full width, flapping them a few times, and Sam's heart leapt up into his throat.

"Ruby--!" he tried again, but his hands were already clutching instinctively. The demon's muscles were tightening, locking, and she was stepping back, giving herself room, and oh gods. Oh gods. "Ruby!!"

But it was too late. In the next instant she was moving -- unbelievably fast -- and Sam was reminded of just how quick demon attacks could be. Reminded of just how deadly smooth the creatures could be in the night, swooping in and out before they could even be detected.

Ruby's wings flared out and gave one massive, powerful pump, and Sam's stomach dropped out, dropped straight through his feet and was left behind as they suddenly overcame the tree tops, skimming over them for a minute before they hit an updraft like a stone wall, and Sam felt real terror that that was it, that he was going to be thrown. The wind was vicious and ripped at him, his weight thrown off balance, all his skills as a fighter useless in this new, foreign environment. His hands were gripping Ruby's spines so tight he thought the bone might break off, and that thought made him pull himself in, press down as close to her back as he could get.

The demon rose on the winds, great wings flapping again and again, scooping in the air until they were high, so unbelievably high that Sam couldn't bear to look down. He'd never been afraid of heights before, but then again, he'd never been _flying._ Ruby, though, swum through the air like she was born to it, and Sam supposed she was, her tail shifting and switching behind them, less like a rudder and more like a prop, used to balance her out as her wings shifted them.

"Holy crap," Sam murmured against her scales, voice mostly stolen by the wind. "Ruby..."

She banked, left wing dropping to swing them around, turning over the dark mass of the forest, and Sam couldn't help himself. He had to look. He had to _see._

He swallowed hard and grabbed to any bravery inside of him, gritting his teeth before cautiously shifting to the side, only enough to peer over Ruby's strong shoulder, looking in front of the edge of her beating wing.

Below them was only darkness. The never ending stretch of the forest gave away nothing in the night, the clouds blocking out the moonlight, and Sam felt disappointment swim in along with the fear of that seemingly unending fall. Here he was, flying on demonback, and he couldn't see a damned thing.

_"We would ride them. Our ancestors sat astride the demons and rode them into the skies -- partners in battle, partners in life. They were our other halves, and as we shared our dreams with them, so did they share with us the sky."_

Sam could hear his mother's voice even now, smoothing out that disappointment and reminding him of what mattered. This was what she'd wanted, what she believed that humans and demons could have -- a partnership. Sam was flying through the air, flying on demonback like his mother had always wanted, and he wished, desperately, that she could see him now. She would be proud of him.

Sam leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Ruby's neck, and the feeling was an old one, eleven years old, never dimming, never fading with time: the longing for his mother to be there. To be alive and watching him.

Ruby banked again and dropped, air shooting by, but Sam didn't cry out, didn't fear, because his mother's voice was in the wind, and his fingers were pressing to Ruby's scales, and he knew, soul deep, that she was right. Had always been right.

 _'This is where I was always meant to be,’_ he thought, and the shadow of the trees broke into the golden light of Lawrence, a beacon in the night. The lights of the village were like firefly spots, brilliant little stars hung out to shine, yellow and orange and flickering at the edges of a fire, spilling out over the cliff and shouting their challenge out to the sea: _You will not take us._

Sam could see it, the whole of it, the heart of his people, in a way that John or Dean would never see it -- not unless they were here, riding on the back of a demon, staring down into the very nexus of their spirit, hardened and cold but still bright, still unbroken if somewhat marred. Ruby soared over the village, the wind rushing up of the cliffs, pushed up by the waves, buffeting her backwards, but she pressed on, her wings pumping. Sam felt the force trying to drive tears from the edges of his eyes and he narrowed them to slits as Ruby fought, wings shifting and adjusting, going still and then pumping again, waging war with the wind itself, until suddenly, without warning, they were out over the sea, the white caps crashing below almost silent under the roar of the air in Sam's ears. Above them, the clouds hung dark and grey, blotting out the stars, and Sam was caught for breath, feeling the sudden realization flood through him -- that they could just keep flying. Fly far out to sea until the land couldn't see them anymore.

Fly to the ends of the earth. Or to anywhere else.

Ruby's wings tucked like a falcon and she dove. She twisted over, and even though he had nothing to hold on to, he didn't grasp or find something to clutch. As she flipped in the air, fell towards the earth, Sam let go and just let himself revel in the sensation of flight. He'd never trusted anyone like this before, no one but Dean. Never trusted his life into someone else's hands with the certainty that they'd catch him.

He breathed in and knew he was hundreds of feet above the earth, knew he was only one slip away from a terrifying and fatal drop, and knew, at the same time, without a doubt, that he was safe.

Ruby had flipped over, belly up as she dove -- her greater weight falling faster than Sam and the force of the fall keeping him pinned to her back. The darkness flew past all around them and unbroken, a world trapped and tied to its rituals and customs, the land and sea unmoving, and Sam's people cleaved to their traditions, their fear, and their hate. Sam and Ruby, though, flew somewhere beyond all that.

Near the base of the seawall, Ruby's wings snapped open as she twisted back around, the sudden push of air raising them upwards along the wall of rock, crags and juts disappearing down below as they rose and swept over the rim of the cliff, far from the golden light of Lawrence. Sam felt Ruby's tiny scales shift under his fingers, felt her muscles under that, thick and bunched, churning with power and effort as they skimmed the forest and soared beyond. Her wings scooped the air, churned it like butter, the demon a master of her realm, and he felt himself breathe in the wind and laugh it out again as the cloud cover trailed off, and the silver glow of the moon came down in beams across the highlands.

The trees fell away behind them, opening up into the fields, open and bare, ground passing far faster than it would under a horse, and Sam peered down at it over Ruby's shoulder, watching the dimly lit land as it flitted by, swatches of dark brush mixed with silvery grass. He glanced up when he felt eyes on him and saw the demon's ruby red gaze checking on him, her head turned just slightly. Sam grinned at her, couldn't help but.

"You knew I needed this, didn't you...?" he murmured, no expectation that she'd hear his faint voice through the wind, but not caring. Ruby wouldn't understand the words. She didn't need to. She understood him anyway.

The demon shifted in the air, her head darting back to face forward, eyes locked on something that Sam couldn't see yet. Her tail moved minutely, a counterbalance, and Sam felt her muscles bunching oddly underneath him. He glanced down, then out, and could barely make out something moving in the moonlight -- the fluid motions of a body running full tilt, headed away from them. Whatever it was though, its speed was nothing compared to Ruby, and before long they were pulling near behind it.

Sam could make out the freckled fur, white patches almost glowing in the silver light, a young doe hopping over the grass, spreading her legs out as far as she could go, running for the treeline and safety from the predator coming in behind her.

Ruby's wings flapped twice, two great thrusts of air and they were close enough that Sam could almost hear the doe's breathing, could almost see himself reflected in her big dark eyes, when Ruby's wings snapped out, blocking the wind like sail flaps, bringing them almost to a halt. At the same time, her powerful legs extended, claws grasping and crushing the doe in one quick motion, snatching the beast cleanly off the ground as Ruby's wings shifted and came down again, never touching the earth, never even faltering.

She took to the skies again, her prey dead and captured, and Sam hadn't realized he'd held his breath until he let it out, and the two of them soared over the breadth of the highlands, the night like a blanket, the world utterly theirs.

When Ruby finally did land, Sam had no idea how much time had passed.

He crashed to the ground, legs not supporting him at all, shaking with too much emotion. He rolled onto his back, breathing deeply, and Ruby crept over to him, shoving her head in against his chest, nosing at him curiously. He laughed and brought his hands up, grasping the line of her jaw.

It was, perhaps, the first moment since his mother's death where he wasn't afraid at all.

He pressed his forehead to the hard plate of Ruby's forehead and felt the vibrations of her thrum deep in his bones.

"Thank you," he murmured. "Thank you."

The storm hadn't yet come to where they'd landed, and Sam didn't have too much difficulty in gathering up some dry kindling and lighting a fire, Ruby poking at it in curiosity, no matter how many times he waved her off. He still had his whittling knife on him and used it to cut a healthy shank off of the deer, roasting it over the heat while Ruby enjoyed the rest of the doe raw. Sam watched the fire flicker and burn, licking at the tightening meat over it, the flames shining bright in his eyes. His mind, muffled and defeated earlier in the evening, was working quickly now, ticking over and considering, putting together something that almost seemed like a plan.

Something that seemed like hope.

"We could go south," he announced, Ruby looking up from her bloody meal for only a second, licking her lips before darting back in for more. Sam didn't look away from the fire. "If I can ride on your back...we could go anywhere. We could travel faster than on horseback -- way faster than walking. We could... We could go to the lands my mother came from. We could look for people who know more about demonriders. And even if there are none, it's still better there than here. I mean, Mom always said the demons were extinct down there. That means people wouldn't know what you are. It means that, even if they're confused or scared, they're not demon hunters. They won't come after you. And if they do, they won't know what they're doing. Maybe...Maybe we can start a new life down there."

Sam licked his lips, never before having considered living anywhere other than with his people -- within the cold, regimented life of Lawrence. He'd never thought he'd live anywhere but with his family, never thought he'd be anything other than a Winchester.

But he didn't have to be. Not anymore.

"Even if we have to start from scratch, it's still better than here, where we already have marks against us. Being a nobody, starting with a blank slate... That's all I've ever wanted, Ruby. I can prove myself. I _can._ Down there...I'll just be someone untested. I won't be a failure, there."

Down there, people would be able to see all the things he could do, instead of all the things he couldn't.

Down there, he wouldn't be around Dean every day, always being measured against his perfect brother. Most of all, though, down there, he could be his own man. He could grow out of this strange, obsessive love and find a way to move on. To be _Sam,_ instead of _Dean's Sam._

The fire crackled and dipped as the wind blew cold through it, sending cinders tumbling, and Sam ran his thumb over his lower lip, elbows resting on his propped up knees.

"Tomorrow, Ruby...Tomorrow we go south."

\-----

Sam had always been good with a plan.

Once he knew what he wanted, once he knew where he was going with something, he was hard to stop. As a child, he'd gotten himself into trouble more than once with his stubborn determination, approaching unbroken horses when his mother told him not to, or climbing up onto the roof of their house when Dean said he shouldn't. He didn't think it was necessarily a bad thing.

For a moment there, in the village, with people looking to him for direction, it had almost been good.

But that stubborn quality was also what had him camping out in the wilderness with a demon, disowned by his family, so he could admit that it also had its downsides.

Still, when the morning broke the next day and Sam shifted his sore body out of its curled constriction, he was already putting things in order in his head, counting off the things he'd need and which direction he and Ruby should take once they set off. He'd heard of fishing towns and villages along the west coast, which would be a good place to start. After all, the people of Lawrence depended heavily on the sea -- Sam knew his way around a boat and netting. He could probably find a job, earn himself some supplies.

In the meantime, he ate whatever was left of his cooked shank of deer while Ruby gnawed on the bones of the carcass.

The unfortunate thing was that he really wasn't prepared for traveling as he was. He'd need a better knife, as well as a blanket or two to brave the nights. Sam doubted he'd be able to find accommodations for awhile, and he imagined that if he was traveling, he'd have to accept some nights would be spent out in the wilderness. Ruby's body heat was a good start, but a blanket would help, and some fresh clothes wouldn't go amiss either.

He wasn't wild about going back into town.

He was _especially_ not wild about running into Dean again, after having all but said he wasn't coming back. He winced, remembering the way his brother called him traitor, and the venison tasted bitter in his mouth. He didn't want Dean to think he was coming back, head hung and back broken. He may be a coward and a traitor as far as his people were concerned, but hell if he was going to add 'weakling' to that list.

If he did run into Dean, he'd just have to make it clear that he was only back for his things.

He didn't _think_ Dean would attack him.

Sam was kicking dirt on what was left of his firepit, trying to work out the best route to sneak into town and into his home, when the first cry rang out. Sam's head jerked up when he heard it, loud even though it was clearly distant, and Sam would recognize the noise anywhere: a demon scream.

What he didn't expect was that Ruby would call out in response, open her mouth and trumpet a cry, letting it echo out over the far edges of the forest, Sam's hands whipping up to slap over his ears, looking over at his demon.

She was already moving forward.

"Ruby!" he yelled, dropping his hands, running over to her. "Ruby, wait!"

The demon didn't seem to be interested in listening to him, though, because she was walking swiftly forward, shifting her weight back onto her hind legs and shifting her shoulders -- readying for flight.

"Shit, Ruby--" He grasped for her, trying to get her attention, trying to get her to stop, trying for anything. "Ruby, stop, you-- Ruby!"

She shifted around restlessly, flapping her wings, and Sam barely ducked them in time, feeling the cold blasts of air from their movement. He didn't have a lot of choice here.

He reached up, grabbing the base of her wing, and dodged their unpredictable movements as he pulled himself up onto her back. He couldn't call himself an expert after only one flight, and even as enjoyable( _exhilarating_ ) as that had turned out to be, he couldn't deny the one-two beat of anxiety in his chest as he reached down to grab hold of her withers. He didn't have time to overthink it, though, because in the next second Ruby was launching herself to the sky, just as another demon scream rang out.

Sam felt the expected blast of wind as they rose, ducking his head against it. He shut his eyes to protect them but opened them again when he felt Ruby level out, trying to get a sense of where they were headed or what was going on.

Below them, the field had vanished, Ruby headed straight up over the forest and, Sam realized, straight back towards Lawrence.

This wasn't the worst thing in the world, as Sam needed to get back there to get his supplies. But on the other hand, it meant they could be headed straight back into a demon attack, something he wasn't wild about flying into altogether, but specifically because the danger of Ruby picking up an errant spear in her side. Sam had never heard of a demon attack during the day, but he couldn't really eliminate far-fetched possibilities, given he was riding a demon through the sky.

Even if there wasn't a demon attack going on, though, Sam didn't want Ruby to fly over the village in daylight. She'd only passed by undetected last night because of her dark coloring and the cloud cover. If they spotted her, even a glimpse, Sam knew they wouldn't hesitate to get their swords in her hide, end her quick and brutal no matter how loudly Sam protested.

He shivered a little and reached down to grasp Ruby's neck.

"Ruby..." he murmured, then raised his voice, only hoping that he could reach her over the wind and through her apparent determination to seek out the other demon. "Ruby! You need to go down! You can't fly to the village -- they'll kill you!"

There was no response, the dark scaled demon just flying onwards, her head pointed straight forward and straight towards Lawrence.

"Ruby!!"

A second later she dove, not like the night previously where she'd flipped them to keep Sam on her back. This time she was going straight down, with Sam above her, and he felt himself begin to lift, begin to fly away. His heart beat triple time and his hands scrabbled at her back, losing her and going tumbling free fall through the air a sudden and horrifyingly possible reality. He found one of her spines and clamored down until he could get his arms tight around her neck, holding on for his life as he shut his eyes tightly.

He let out a 'oof' when she evened out, her wings sweeping backwards to slow them, coming to an even landing even as all of Sam's insides tried to crawl up into his head.

He jumped down immediately, not wanting Ruby to fly off without him, but also not ready to take another ride like that. Thankfully, the demon seemed to be good on the ground, settling on to all fours, her wings tucked in against her sides. Sam stumbled and put his hands on his knees, managing, just barely, to keep his feet under him.

The rumbling croon, though, made him jump.

He whirled around, eyes wide as he came just about face to face with a foreign demon, one quite a bit bigger than Ruby and pearlish white, a feathery ruff running down her neck and over her back, her wings attached along the length of her back like Ruby, but unlike Sam's demon, this one had feathered wings instead of leather. Sam sucked in a breath, steeling himself for an attack, and the demon didn't look exactly friendly, but before it could do anything, Ruby chittered softly and the white demon turned away from Sam.

Ruby ambled over, completely casual, like this was no big deal, and pressed her head up under the white demon's, nuzzling in. The white demon thrummed in response, butting their heads against each other as it lifted one foreleg, wrapping it around Ruby, who looked surprisingly small in that set up. Sam took the opportunity to stumble back, groping behind him until he felt the comforting familiarity of a rock wall behind him.

They were back in their clearing, the clearing where Sam and Ruby had spent so much time and, it seemed, where Sam would get to meet his second demon face-to-face.

In front of him, Ruby and the white one seemed to be communicating, rumbling and chirping, growling occasionally, and it wasn't a language, but it was still more than just noises. Ruby rubbed the side of her neck against the white demon and Sam didn't know how he knew, how it occurred to him or why he was so certain, but he knew it all the same in that exact instant.

"...she's your mom," he breathed in wonder, understanding right away why Ruby had taken off as suddenly as she did, responding to the worried calls of her mother, searching for a child that had been missing for weeks. Missing and with Sam.

For some reason, Sam had never even considered the fact that Ruby might have family that missed her.

That demons had families, just like Sam.

The white demon looked over at Sam then, and tilted her head in question at her daughter. Sam swallowed hard, wondering if he was about to get his head literally bitten off by a pissed off mother. Ruby, though, just walked over to him, pressing her head against his back to shove him towards the much larger demon. Sam's hands reached back to grab at Ruby, but she just gave him one extra little nudge with her nose and then abandoned him there in front of a demon that Sam didn't know at all.

Although, the minute he thought that, he realized she looked...familiar.

His brow furrowed, curious at that pricking of association, but it was quickly shoved to the back of his mind as the beast lowered her head, leaning in to sniff at Sam. He stayed motionless, perfectly still, and he wasn't afraid like he would have been a few weeks ago, terrified and trembling and useless, but that new courage, borne of understanding, didn't make him a fool. Just because demons weren't all violent didn't mean that they hadn't been ravaging his home for the entirety of his life, and it didn't mean that he wasn't in danger here.

Sure, Ruby would probably be upset after her mom bit his head off, but Sam would just be dead.

The white demon inspected him methodically, never touching him, but looking him over carefully. Sam reached out at one point to try and make contact, but the demon jerked her head back, denying him, and he took the hint. She returned to her examination once she was certain he wouldn't interrupt her again and Sam let her, until she was apparently satisfied and drew her head back.

She looked down at him with silvery eyes, stared into him, and Sam remembered, like a great weight hitting his chest and driving all the air out of him.

_"Lilith."_

The name that Sam's own mother had given the demon, had told Sam that night when she'd set him down on the rocks and walked to her death. Sam covered his mouth with one hand, not sure if he was going to be sick or cry, but either way, feeling the need to hold it back.

Lilith. The demon that his mother had come to bond with, so wrapped up in her stories of demons and demonriders and the sacredness of the bond that she'd danced merrily into their claws, and Lilith hadn't been the one to do the killing, but she'd been there all the same. Stood there when Sam had felt his mother's blood on his cheeks.

He stumbled back, everything in him revolting.

"Sam!" a familiar voice called. But even though he knew it, he was confused, lost, until he turned and saw Dean standing on a jut of rock overlooking the clearing, shock on his face and his halberd in his hand. "Gods, Sam... Two of them? What the hell are you doing?"

This wasn't how Sam had pictured their unwanted reunion going, but all the defenses he'd come up with that morning, all the claims of just wanting his things, his words of unbridled determination about leaving and never coming back all fled him in that moment. Instead, he stared at his brother as if he were a ghost, and Dean's brow furrowed.

"Sam?"

Sam's hand lowered slightly, his palm dragging over his lips until his fingertips rested there, eyes glassy.

"Sam..."

There was a yell, a cry in the woods, and then another -- search party calling out to each other. Searching, it seemed, for the demon that had foolishly flown straight over Lawrence in broad daylight. Dean was looking back into the forest, then turned quickly back to his brother.

"Sam, Sam you have to go. We all saw the demon pass overhead. They can't find you here. There's no way I'd-- But they might--" Dean looked a little desperate, and it was a strange expression on his face, something Sam wasn't used to seeing. He just stood there, staring at his brother like he was a puzzle, the phantom scent of his mother's blood strange and in the air.

"Sam," Dean's voice was firm. "They will _kill_ you, and then they will kill that stupid demon of yours."

Sam felt a jolt, felt his heart flutter in his chest with an old, familiar panic, a familiar fear, but one that had nothing to do with demons. Instead, the fear of loss and the tang of blood on his skin, the blood that was only in his memory, no matter how strong it seemed, but could easily become real, could become _Ruby's,_ and Sam couldn't stand to watch another loved one die. Not here. He looked over at the white demon, at Lilith, but another shout from the woods shook him(closer, this time; closing in). Sam jumped over a rock, running up to Ruby and putting his hands on the underside of her neck.

"Ruby," he murmured, trying to draw her attention away from her mother. "Ruby, c'mon... Ruby, look at me."

His demon was distracted, sniffing absently at Lilith's wings, but Sam's voice finally pulled her attention and she looked over at him curiously. He reached up, grabbing at the hooked plates at the back of her jaw, holding her in place as he looked into her eyes.

"C'mon, Ruby...We gotta go. You need to follow me, okay girl? Okay?"

Her red eyes flicked over him, intrigued and lacking in understanding, but that connection they had, that innate knowledge, seemed to allow her to at least grasp that this was important. She wiggled her head to the side a little, inquiring, but Sam didn't have time to try and soothe her. Instead, he began to back up, tugging her along with him. She was several times his weight and could easily have resisted, and Sam felt his chest unknot when, instead of doing so, she stepped forward, following him.

"Come on, come on..." he whispered, glancing over at Dean, over at the woods. He had to get Ruby hidden, had to do it before the other hunters got there. They wouldn't listen. They wouldn't even _wait_ to listen. Once they saw Ruby, there'd be no escape for her, and no escape for Sam when he came to her defense, as he knew he would.

He glanced back behind himself, watching where to step as the rocky ground sloped down, and Sam stepped carefully, finding a ridge pressing into the forest, creating a ledge -- and under it, a lee. Sam kept walking backwards, whispering hushed encouragements to Ruby as they moved into the trees and down the embankment, leaves shifting and wrinkling under their feet. Ruby was crooning a little in confusion, trying to move her head to look back at her mother, less curious now and more concerned, but she followed Sam down under the lee of the rock, folding herself in.

"Stay here, okay?" Sam asked, then jumped up and grabbed the ledge, pulling himself over it and running back to the clearing, looking at Lilith, who hadn't moved despite the oncoming danger.

"You have to go," he said, not sure what to think of the fact that this demon had been there the night his mother died -- that this demon had been _named_ by his mother.

He didn't have the space or the time to consider such things.

"Go!" he waved his hands. "C'mon! Fly away!"

He tried to frighten her, startle her, and she backed up a little, only to turn her head and croon for Ruby. Sam heard Ruby's answering trill -- close, way closer than it should have been, and he turned to see that his demon had crept back up to the treeline.

"Shit--"

 _"Sam,"_ Dean hissed.

"I know!" Sam ran back to Ruby, grabbing her neck, pulling her back along with him, her steps stumbling as she watched Lilith the whole time until they were back under the ledge.

"Here!" a deep shout echoed in the clearing and Sam froze. The other hunters had found the clearing. There was no way to go back to Lilith now. No way to save her.

"Ruby..." Sam started, but he didn't even know what to say. Fear was in her eyes and she was trying to stretch her neck to look around the rock.

"No, no..." Sam said quickly, reaching up to grab her head and pull it back to him, holding on to her. "Don't--.... Don't look, Ruby..."

There were more sounds, the sounds of weapons and wood, metal and spears, and the voices of men. There was the sound of claws shuffling on stone and Lilith's warning rumble. Sam felt Ruby stiffen under his hands and he tried to soothe her, tried to calm her with gentle hushes, as if that would make any damned difference.

_A screech of pain and whipping winds--_

Sam winced, eyes shut tight.

"Close your eyes, Ruby... Don't look, don't look..." His hands curled slowly down her scales, feeling her shaking under his palms.

There was a thump above them, great weight moving around, and a hiss. The scrape of boots shifting over rock, then the ear splitting demon scream, a loud and terrible warning of battle, and Sam felt his whole body jerk, felt himself go rigid with it, and for a second, Ruby tried to twist out of his grip.

"No!" he said, almost too loud. "No... No, don't, Ruby...Please. Please, please..."

He reached up, pulling her back to him, running his hands over her snout, and she stared into him, crimson eyes wide and panicked, asking to flee.

"No...shh. It's okay, just--" There was another demon scream, then a higher pitched one -- a wail, full of anger and pain and blood. "--just watch me, okay? Just...look at me. C'mon...there's my good girl." He leaned in, kissing the plates of scale over her nose, pressing his cheek to the warm armor. He felt the minute tremors running through her, and realized he was shaking too--

_A fumbling body of meat and bone, anchored to the ground, and Sam opened his mouth but nothing came out--_

"Don't look up there, girl..." He wrapped his arms around her head, held her against him, felt the ground trembling with the force of the unseen battle, heard the shouts and cries, words and orders switched back and forth from hunter to hunter, and maybe to Dean, but Sam couldn't think of that right now. He held on to Ruby and whispered under his breath.

"Don't look, don't look, don't look. Just stay here, girl, don't move, don't go up there..."

_Horrible yellow eyes hung like dead harvest moons--_

Sam was shuddering, and he could hear Ruby whining softly into his chest. His fingers clenched, and he tried to muffle her noises in his shirt.

"Quiet...Gotta be quiet -- please, Ruby." His lips moved against her scales, more mouthing the words than saying them. There was a loud, wet _thwack!_ and Sam's whole body jerked and went rigid, and for a moment, there was silence.

"Shh, shh, shh," he prayed, so low it was inaudible, not letting go of Ruby for anything, but begging to the gods, to anyone who would listen, that Ruby wouldn't make a sound.

There was a loud crow of victory and Sam sobbed, biting his lip to hold it back.

The voices of the hunters were a blur, one over the other as they talked, the sound of hands hitting leather armor in congratulation, Sam unable to concentrate enough to hear the words, unable to even care to hear the words.

In his arms was something too familiar to him, something that had defined him and his life and the way that his father saw him, something that had marked him since he was four years old and Dean was washing their mother's blood from his skin.

In his arms was someone who'd stood silent while their mother was murdered in front of them.

Sam shut his eyes tightly, wanting to hide, wanting to forget, wanting to do something _better_ for someone else -- to feel like what he'd suffered through wasn't in vain, because it meant that no one else would have to feel it.

It was worse that he couldn't even talk to Ruby, that she'd never be able to understand his words, the cold comfort they might be.

Sam didn't know how long they stayed under the ledge, huddled together. He knew his mouth was moving, forming soundless words, but who knew what they were or what they meant. The voices above them rose and fell in the cadence of conversation, heavy footsteps moving around the clearing. Sam didn't notice when the voices began to fade out, when the silence of the woods began to crowd back in -- didn't notice it until Dean's voice broke through, crystal clear and almost frighteningly loud in the midst of the hush.

"Sam?"

Sam jumped, and found himself sitting on the ground, Ruby's head in his lap and her eyes closed. His hands were resting against her, one over the bridge of her nose, the other on the back of her long neck, and he felt dried out inside, like a husk, like he couldn't believe this had happened again, in the same clearing, with him still unable to do anything at all.

Powerless.

He shifted, getting into a crouch carefully and lifting Ruby's head. Her eyes were mostly shut but she wasn't asleep, and Sam laid her down on the old leaves, running his hand over the quills on her back, watching them lay flat as his palm passed over them. He got to his feet, climbing up from behind the ledge, just as Dean called his name again.

The first thing Sam saw was his brother, his kilt and leathers only slightly bloodstained, his halberd held low, one strong hand wrapped around the thick pole. The demon mane tied around the end, from Dean's first kill years ago, was dragging on the ground.

The second thing he saw was Lilith, her great white body laid out over the rocks and moss of the clearing, and her head hanging almost severed from the neck, and Sam didn't gasp or choke, still too shocked for that, but he stared, felt a thick, heady anger building in his chest, his throat. Anger that tasted like grief.

"...how could you?" he asked, voice low, and his eyes flicked to Dean.

Dean just shook his head in confusion, opening his mouth to speak, but Sam cut him off.

"Of all the people on this earth, you should know-- you should know--" Sam's hands balled into fists, shaking.

"Sam, I--...It's a demon, I can't just--"

"She was Ruby's _mother!"_ Sam heard his voice echo and he knew, logically, he shouldn't attract attention, but it suddenly didn't seem so important in that moment. "You and Dad kill them because they killed Mom. Because they took Mom from us. And you turn around and do _this?!"_ He thrust his hand out, motioning to Lilith's still corpse.

"We...hunt demons. It's what we _do."_ Except Dean didn't sound so certain of that, not anymore, his face turned away.

"It's not what _I_ do. How're you any different from _Him,_ Dean? How is this any different from what the Yellow Eyed Death did to us?"

"Don't you say that!" Dean spit, body rigid, staring straight into Sam. "Don't you dare. Don't you--...Not after what he took from us."

Sam pressed his lips together hard, feeling his jaw locked tight, outrage pumping in his veins. He could see, now, how this would continue forever. Demons killing humans and humans killing demons in some messed up cycle, violence hitting against violence until there was nothing left on this shore but bones and blood. Dead mothers haunting the memories of generation after generation, and Sam knew enough to know that he couldn't stand the idea.

He didn't want anyone living like he did, trying to scrub the memories out of his mind's eye.

"...I know what it feels like to watch your mother die. I know that. I've had to carry that. And you--...You and Dad just wanted me to get over it. To go on your revenge kick, like that’s going to heal anything." Sam took an unsteady breath. He shook his head. "I won't do that. Never again. I won't be a hunter. Or a Celt, if that's what it means. Ruby and I...we're going south. We're going to go south until this whole messed up place is just a bad memory."

"That's all we are to you?" Dean's voice was hard and scathing -- and Sam knew Dean well enough to know that it was the sound of hurt. "A bad memory you can just wash away? Fuck you, Sammy."

"You killed someone's mother right in front of them, Dean!"

"No, I GODDAMNED DIDN'T!" And with that Dean threw his halberd violently to the ground, a sudden and unexpected motion, the large weapon clattering loud against the stone, and Sam jumped back instinctively.

He stared down at it.

The blade was bare. Clean.

Blood was flecked over Dean's clothes, but his blade was untarnished. Unused.

"I'm all-- You've messed me up. You've made me--" Dean growled in frustration, stalking away. He stopped, putting his hands on his hips, the tense line of his back presented to Sam. "...I used to know what I was doing. I used to _believe_ \--...But how'm I supposed to tell now, Sam? How do I tell the difference between the _good_ ones and the ones I'm supposed to kill? How can I-- What if I--"

Sam didn't know what to say. He found himself standing there, slightly slack jawed and staring at his brother's back, with no words at all.

Dean hadn't killed Lilith. Maybe he'd tried and failed but it didn't seem that way, not by how Dean was talking. Dean, who'd always been so assured of his desire to hunt and slay demonkind, had doubted, even if only just for an instant.

Doubted, because of Sam.

And as sick and cold as the events of the morning had left him, Sam felt something twist, felt himself take an uncertain step forward, wanting to touch the brother he thought he'd lost eleven years ago. The brother who looked at him like Sam was the sun, and Dean the earth to bask in him.

"Dean, I--"

"Dean!" another voice cried out and Sam jerked his hand back, holding it like he'd scalded the skin, and one of their clansmen ran up from the direction of the village. Ash, Sam's brain supplied, and the other hunter stopped awkwardly when he spied Sam in the clearing as well as the eldest Winchester brother.

"Sam..." Ash started, looking at him, and swallowed. "Dean, Sam -- your father. He and the others, they just pulled up at the docks."

And just like that, the world kept right on twisting and turning.

\-----

It was hard leaving Ruby in the wake of her mother's death.

More than anything, Sam wanted to stay beside her, comfort her. Of all the people in the world, he knew exactly how awful something like this felt, and the idea of leaving someone else, of letting them go through it alone, was terrible.

But John and the other hunters had returned, and Sam needed to know what had happened. It could be his and Ruby's lives on the line, could be life or death, and staying and hiding in the woods wasn't an option, not right now. He embraced Ruby, rubbed her face, then guided her away from the clearing, away from the corpse, hiding her in the woods and murmuring to her that he'd be back soon, only hoping that she understood.

Dean waited around for him, though impatiently, hustling Sam along at every step until the two of them were running through the trees, Dean's halberd used to hack through the underbrush and clear the way, the two of them used to the terrain and able to move fast. When they broke out from the woods and into Lawrence, they found the town mostly empty, everyone having abandoned their homes and work to greet the returning hunters. There was a group of people clustered around the cliff's edge, peering down to the seawall, but Sam and Dean ignored them, instead jogging down the path along the cliffside, down to the beach and the docks.

In the cove created by the seawall, the larger ships of their people were moored and bound, hunters moving up and down the planks to unload things, other villagers helping to carry and transport supplies. Sam searched the crowd for their father, wanting to know he was safe -- having considered, more than once during his absence, that he might well have met his end. Sam certainly hadn't expected the hunters to return home with supplies, as if they'd gone on a trade route.

"Dad!" he heard Dean shout, and he swiveled immediately to follow his brother's gaze, finally finding John Winchester, not looking too much worse for wear, raising a hand in greeting in response to Dean's shout.

The two of them jogged over, a little out of breath as they approached, and their dad spared them a tight smile, though his eyes only darted briefly to Sam. The two of them hadn't exactly parted on the best of terms.

"Things been okay while I was gone?" he asked, first off.

"Yes sir," Dean responded. "We brought the first harvest in and fended off one demon attack. No loss of life."

"Good. Good job, son," John clapped one hand on Dean's shoulder then turned to Sam. He opened his mouth, but only awkward silence came out. Sam did his best to supply something.

"Glad you're okay," he said, knowing, at least, that much was true. Things were rough between him and his father, but he still loved the man. Just never knew how to deal with him.

John nodded and offered a brief smile, as close to a peace offering as Sam was ever going to get, and he took it.

"Help the others get the things up top -- we can talk then," was all John said in reply, already moving to take a crate in his arms, holding it carefully. Whatever it was, it was clearly important. Sam held back his questions, not eager to mess with the cautious truce they had going.

He ended up with a pile of fleeces and leathers, stacked high enough that he had a hard time seeing, marching up the cliff behind Dean, the sounds of laughter and conversation flowing all around him. It was hard to know what to feel. He was relieved that his father and clansmen were safe -- glad that people were coming home to families that had missed them and had begun to mourn them. Coming home to people who'd feared the worst for the last couple of weeks. But he couldn't keep his mind from drifting back to Ruby, to her soft cries and the sounds of Lilith being murdered by people who thought they were doing the right thing.

He couldn't help but think about the fact that behind him were people loaded up with more weapons, more instruments of death, to kill demons that may or may not be their enemies.

It made Sam queasy in his stomach, especially when he realized that it wasn't enough that he wasn't going to kill them. It wasn't enough to just abstain and wash his hands of the whole debacle. If he and Ruby fled to the south, they'd be leaving not only Sam's people, but the demonkind, perhaps the last of the demonkind in the world, to war and death.

Before, Sam had justified it to himself. Perhaps, after all, Ruby was just a one off. Perhaps the demons hungered for war as much as they seemed to, and the people of Lawrence were too stubborn to just pick up their things and move. That somehow the two sides deserved each other and Sam was just doing the only thing he could do by running away.

But Lilith hadn't seemed evil, hadn't seemed violent at all until hunters came at her with spears and halberds leveled. Sam's mother had gone to see Lilith, had gone to bond with her, and maybe the stories that his mother had told really were true. Maybe the demons were being controlled somehow. Maybe they were just pawns, and if they were, how could Sam leave them to be killed? Manipulated and used and then discarded when the Yellow Eyed Death was done with them, when the humans had finished hacking them apart.

He sighed when he set his bundle down with the rest of the supplies being stacked up under the roof of the blacksmith's -- no walls, leaving it easy to access but covered to keep the rain out. When Sam turned around, dusting his hands off, he saw John at the edge of the village, the crate he'd been carrying laying open and empty at his feet. In his hands was a bow, beautiful and smooth, finely crafted with golden inlets carved into it like floral ivy.

Sam's brow creased, noticing his father was showing other villagers the weapon, letting them look at it, and Sam began to make his way over.

"...went to see a man I heard of once. Name was Elkins, further south -- I heard he was a hunter, like us," John was explaining when Sam came up, and Sam already felt on edge, as if he knew he was about to hear something he wouldn't like.

"Dad?" he asked, tipping his head in gentle curiosity. "What is that?"

"Sam..." John turned to him, then lifted the bow to let him look. His father pulled on the taut sting, his strong arms pulling it back and making the bow flex, making it bend, and it took the pressure as if it were nothing.

"You went down south? Down to the southern kingdoms?" Sam's brow furrowed. "That's so far away..."

"Wasn't much," John dismissed. "Knowing the location of the Hell Gate is nothing if we don't have a way to end the Yellow Eyed Death."

"You _found_ the Hell Gate?" Sam asked, incredulous.

"Was just where Caleb had always suspected. I should have gone on the offensive sooner. I was always worried about leaving this place, about it being undefended..." He shook his head. "It's in the past, now. We found it, and now we know how to kill that damned thing."

Sam felt his heart rate speed up.

"That's...that's good," he started, nervously.

"It's an isle, north west of here. Just a spit of ugly land, too, but we could see the demons circling from miles out."

"And the bow can kill it? Kill the Death?"

"Back when the Romans were marching on Alba, when the stars were falling overhead, same night those men died at Caer Caradoc, they say a great craftsman made a bow. A special bow. He made it for a hunter -- a man like us, only fighting the same battle down in the southern lands. Story goes, he made thirteen arrows. This hunter used the bow a half dozen times before he disappeared, the bow along with him... Somehow, Elkins got his hands on it. They say...they say this bow can kill anything." He lifted it up to the light, letting the sunlight play over the lightly tanned wood.

Sam stared at it, agape.

"But that was...that was _hundreds_ of years ago. This bow looks new."

"It's more than just any regular bow. It'll kill the Yellow Eyed Death -- and any other demon. Doesn't even need to hit the head or the heart. Any injury, even only a scratch, would be enough."

"How...How are you going to lure it out?" Sam asked, already feeling the world narrowing around him.

"Don't need to anymore. Now that we know where the Hell Gate is, we'll refresh our supplies and set sail again after a couple night's rest. Take all the hunters we have this time, and we'll take the battle to them. Wipe them out where they sleep, and Lawrence will be free once more!" John hefted the bow into the air, and Sam heard his people cheering, even as his own blood ran cold.

"You can't do that," some idiot said, and Sam pitied them in that moment, until he realized that when the cheering petered out, everyone was looking at him. His mouth was slightly open and his lips still wet.

He was that idiot.

John's brow furrowed.

"What do you mean, Sammy?"

Sam swallowed, his mouth feeling dry, but it was out there now and he knew he couldn't just back down and shut up anymore.

"You can't do that. You can't... _slaughter_ them."

Some nervous laughter tittered through the crowd, as if Sam were joking, or maybe they were just trying to break up the sudden and stiff tension. Sam could identify with that. Dean was watching him with wide eyes, shaking his head minutely, like he could stop this disaster.

"Slaughter them?" John's face darkened. "Maybe you forgot that _they've_ been slaughtering us for over a decade now. Maybe you've forgotten that we have to rebuild our homes over and over again, and that our flocks and fields are stolen and burnt until we barely have enough food and warmth to survive the winter. Maybe you've forgotten that they killed my wife, _your_ mother, and that they deserve to die."

"Don't you dare!" Sam found himself shouting, his hands curled into fists. "Don't you say that to me like I wasn't the one who had to watch it. I was the only one who had to _see_ her die! Don't act like it means nothing to me!"

"Well, doesn't it?!" John took a heavy step forward, anger written into his expression. "You're standing here, telling me that I shouldn't kill demons -- talking like I should feel bad about wiping out creatures that seek to wipe us out!"

"But they _don't!"_ Sam responded, knowing he should shut his mouth, knowing he was endangering more than just himself, that he was endangering Ruby too, but he couldn't. He couldn't keep quiet anymore. "They're being controlled! They're being controlled by the Yellow Eyed Death, just like Mom said. Or don't you care about the things she said? The things she believed? The only thing you ever seem to remember about her is that she's dead!"

Sam could hear Dean suck in a breath, knowing he'd gone too far but not caring because it was true. His mother had been more than just the manner of her death. He was tired of his father using it, using her as an excuse, talking about his grief and his pain like he'd been the one to sit there and watch her die, like Sam hadn't been the one to carry that all these years. Sam stood firm, unmoving, when his father was suddenly right there, up in his face and staring down at him, his hands balled into fists, one holding onto the bow with white knuckles.

"Don't you say that. Don't you... _ever_ say that," John exhaled, his breathing stuttered with anger. "You have no idea--"

"I have no idea? _You_ have no idea! You weren't there! You didn't see it! You didn't have to go through that, and I'm still the only one here that gets what's going on." He stepped back enough to spread his arms wide, gesturing all around them. "Am I really the only person who thinks this doesn't makes any sense? The demons lived here for years. Long before our ancestors built our home. The demons have been hunting along the coast for centuries without ever bothering us, without ever killing us or hurting us or burning our crops. Then, all of a sudden, eleven years ago, they start acting like we're their enemy, out of _nowhere."_

"And that's why they deserve to die!" one hunter in the crowd shouted.

"No!" Sam's voice burned with frustration, willing them to see it, to understand what was happening, and he wondered if this was how his mother felt, back when he was small and no one would listen to her except her boys. "Don't you get it? They don't want to be attacking us. The Yellow Eyed Death came here, looking for--... _looking_ for someone. And when she died he started making the other demons attack us. They don't want to be our enemies. They're being controlled. We have to _free_ them. If we do, then we'll be safe--"

 _"Free_ them?" John asked, incredulous, his expression taut and strained. "We owe them nothing! _Nothing!_ You expect us to be so foolish as to serve our enemy? To serve those who would see us dead? They'd hunt us to the ends of the earth, if given the chance."

"So, what? We wipe them out first? Is that it?"

"You're damned right it is!" John bellowed in response, and Sam's mouth dropped in shock.

"...You think anyone's going to come out of this the winner? Us _or_ them? Even if we do survive, it's not going to be bloodless. Don't you get it?" He looked around, pleading with the crowd. "You're going to die. Even if this works out in the way you expect it to, how many people will we lose? Husbands and wives, mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, all buried -- and for what? For a fight that didn't have to happen!"

"We're proud to die for our people," one of the hunters in the crowd spoke up in response. "Unlike you, you little coward."

"Hey!" Dean shouted, clearly objecting, and Sam couldn't help but be a little surprised. He'd always assumed that Dean thought the same.

"What?" Jed spoke up, arms crossed. "It's true. Everyone knows it's true. He's just too scared to put himself in the line of fire and wants us to run and hide our heads like him. That's all this is."

"It's not!" Sam defended.

"Sure it is," it was Olivia this time, another one who'd been away with Sam's father. "It's not like it's a secret. You're a Winchester, so we've stayed quiet about it, but you're not the heir, and you're no hunter. You just don't want us to go to war so that you won't have to go too. As if we'd take you. You'd be a danger on the battlefield."

"It's not about that," Sam repeated, but his voice was more strained now. He wasn't a coward. He wasn't. The yellow eyes burned into him, stayed with him, and he remembered their ancient anger and he just-- he just couldn't-- But he _wasn't_ a coward.

"It's not," someone else said, supporting Sam, and Sam was as surprised as everyone else, turning to see Bobby -- looking at him with something like sadness in his eyes, which Sam didn't understand. He smiled in relief.

"Bobby," he said in appreciation, glad to have at least one supporter.

"It's not because he's a coward. It's worse than that." Bobby's voice was like the grave, and Sam didn't think he'd ever heard it like that before.

There was silence, the crowd just watching, and Sam realized there was a circle around him, a distance no one seemed to want to cross, like he was plagued, like there was something fundamentally wrong with him. Like a pariah. Dean was staring at him, pained, nervous, as if Sam was having a big crazy freak out in the middle of the town and there was nothing Dean could do about it. John was staring at Sam too, but not with worry -- his face was strange and eerily blank. He looked to Bobby.

"Bobby, what do you mean by that?" John asked, voice low, a warning not to hide or lie.

"I didn't know what to do about it, when I saw it," the other hunter replied, looking down at the hook where his hand had once been. "Thought, maybe I was seein' things. Or maybe there was an explanation I just didn't get but..."

 _"Bobby,"_ John stressed.

"I saw Sam with a demon, on the edge of the wood. Saw him touch the beast and it didn't hurt him. Saw them go off together, like they weren't enemies out to kill each other."

Sam winced when he heard all the little gasps, the inhales of breath all around him, people staring with wide eyes and hands over their mouths, and Dean's eyes closed, head turned away, because he couldn't help Sam now. Sam knew that. He was alone in this.

There'd be no saving him now.

 _"Traitor,"_ came the first accusation, whispered -- the only person shy enough to keep it soft. After that, no one had any such restraint.

"He was left by the Death too, wasn't he? Mary was killed, but the Death didn't touch him."

"Maybe he's not a coward at all. Maybe he never was. Maybe he had a whole different reason for not killing demons."

"No!" Sam tried to object, but it was too late, the words had caught in the crowd like a spark on kindling and there'd be no putting it out.

"He was a traitor the whole time!"

"Put amongst us to mislead us, to throw us off."

"All this while we were protecting you..."

"Hey! He's not--!" Dean tried, looking desperate, but Sam shook his head quickly. If Dean defended him, he'd be labeled a traitor too. And if both the Winchester boys were, maybe the villagers would turn on John too. If Sam couldn't save the demons, maybe Dean would be able to do something.

He hadn't killed Lilith. Sam didn't know how much that was worth, or if Dean would even care to think about a demon's innocence after this, but he had to hope. Now that Sam's word was less than dirt.

"Throw him into the sea!"

"We should just let the monsters have you."

"I wasn't sayin' that..." Bobby started, but he didn't sound like he was objecting too loudly. He shrugged a little, like he didn't want to commit to murder but he wouldn't put up a fight if it came to that.

"John," Gordon said, a hand on his leader's arm. "We can't keep the boy around. Not now."

"We don't even know if it's true," John said, and Sam felt something like hope spark, until it was quickly washed away with John's next question. "Is it true, Sam? Have you... Are you _communing_ with demons?"

And Sam's mouth just hung open, struggling for words.

He could lie. Lie, and maybe save himself, because maybe his father would believe him. Maybe, for once, his father would actually listen. But Sam couldn't stand the idea of his father finally listening to him, _finally_ hearing him, and it being nothing more than a lie. He couldn't stand the idea that his family could only love him if he pretended to be someone he wasn't.

And he couldn't be Sam anymore if he betrayed Ruby now.

His silence spoke for him, and the crowd broke out in shouts of rage.

Sam winced and shut his eyes, hanging his head. He didn't know what happened next, but he wasn't sure he wanted to find out.

A large hand seized his upper arm and he jerked his head up, coming face to face with his father, whose expression was tense and unreadable, and Sam wished he had some way to know his father's thoughts. To know what he was going to say next.

Sam wasn't sure what he dreaded more: being killed as a traitor by his people, or hearing his father speak the condemnation.

"I don't even--" John started then aborted, turning his face away. Fear and pain and something too much to put words to played over his face. He looked up at the sky for a heartbeat, then back down at Sam. He looked broken. "I can't believe you would do this."

"He's a traitor, John. You can't be thinking of letting him go."

"I'll not kill my own son!" John responded immediately and Sam, somehow, was surprised.

Surprised that his own father didn't want him dead.

"...take him away," John finally said, shoving Sam back. "Lock him up somewhere where he can't get in the way. I'll deal with him when we get back."

Sam felt two sets of hands come up on either side of him, grasping his arms, but he didn't fight, not until John spoke again.

"For now, we need to stock the ship with our weapons and fresh food. Tomorrow we launch for the Hell Gate. We can't afford to wait, not if there was a--...Not if there's a chance they know anything."

"No!" Sam yelled, struggling against the hunters holding him. "You can't do that! Please, Dad!"

He stared at his father, pleading with him to understand, to just look into Sam and see as he'd never bothered to see before. Dean was watching him with pain written across his face, eyes tight and only half open, trying to blink something away. John had already turned away, turned his back as the crowd reluctantly broke up, taking his orders.

Preparing for war.

Sam felt cold panic rush through him.

"Don't do this! Please, don't do this! You can't!! Don't hurt them, they don't mean to hurt us! Please!" He tried to yank himself free, but the two hunters dragging him along were bigger and older than him, stronger, and even if he did break free, what could he do? Fight all of Lawrence? They certainly weren't going to listen to him anymore. Somehow, though, that didn't stop him from tipping his head back and letting out a full throated scream of frustration, visions of murdered demons all through his mind, all laid out like Lilith, bloody stumps at the ends of their necks and their children forced to watch -- forced to watch just like Sam had been.

 _"No!!"_ He threw his full body weight forward, digging his feet in. He wrenched himself from side to side, feeling pain in his shoulder but ignoring it. What if they found Ruby? Would she know to fly, or would she trust them because Sam had trained her to trust humans? Would she creep forward full of curiosity and eager friendship, only to be met with a blade to her head or her heart or her legs? The thought choked him and he fought like an animal cornered, like his life depended on it, because _Ruby's_ life depended on it.

All around him, he could hear his people gathering things, moving from place to place, so casually picking up their instruments of destruction, like they were just going to use them for a little field work and not for a massacre. People going on blithely, like preparing for slaughter was nothing abnormal.

"Don't hurt them!"

"Boy," Kubrick, one of his captors, leaned down to speak to him. "I wouldn't be worrying about demons right now. Worry about your own damned hide."

"I won't let you hurt them!"

"And what are you going to do about it?"

Sam opened his mouth to reply, probably with something suitably scathing and headstrong, but before he could even form the words, a demon scream split the air, making everyone around them automatically duck down. Sam felt the hands on his arms loosen a little but he was looking skyward, searching.

A second later, Ruby's dark form appeared, her wings generating gusts of powerful air throughout the village, shouts and yells barely overcoming the solid beats of her wings as she landed, hindlegs touching down first before she trotted evenly across the ground. She turned her head, looking at Sam and calling out for him, a short, desperate cry. Sam didn't hesitate, didn't even think.

He threw off Kubrick and Creedy, dashing across the dusty ground and swinging himself up onto Ruby's back in one move, his hands gripping the spike in front of him as he felt her rise up, wings opening again. The hunters around them were sufficiently surprised by a sudden lone demon arriving in the middle of the day and that they hadn't been attacked by it yet, but Sam knew that it was only a short grace. Only a couple of heartbeats later he saw hunters reaching for their weapons.

Ruby dashed forward to pick up speed, her wings sweeping the ground, gathering air, and Sam felt them begin to lift.

"C'mon, c'mon..." he murmured, then shouted. "Come on! We gotta go!"

They were rising into the sky, just above the rooves of Lawrence, when Sam saw his father, saw an arrow nocked in the demon killing bow and pointed at Ruby underneath him. His hands went tight around the spine he was holding onto -- knowing that his father wasn't aiming for him, didn't want to kill him, but he _did_ want to kill Ruby and that was almost as bad.

"Ruby!" he cried out, and the next instant his dad released the string and let the arrow fly just as Ruby dove to the cliff's edge, letting the air currents lift and take her away as the arrow flew beneath her, burying itself in the thatch of a roof.

Sam glanced back, unable to make much of anything out anymore, and turned to wrap his arms tightly around Ruby's neck, holding on not just for stability.

"Just keep going," he murmured to her. "It doesn't matter where."

Anywhere but back to his family. There was no going back now. He hid his face against Ruby's scales as they flew over the ocean.

He could never go home again.

\-----

_His mother smelled like the moors -- like thistles and dried rain, like the whistling wind of the south, carrying that thick barley scent. Sam felt surrounded by it when he buried his face in her straw colored hair, head resting against her shoulder as she carried him down the hill and across the stream, bare feet slipping lightly over stones in the night, each step disrupting the low mist._

_Sam didn't know what time it was. It was dark and he was tired, having been woken from a deep sleep, his mother's murmurs a quiet susurrus in his ear as she'd lifted him out of bed. His arms had curled around her, instinctive and automatic, resting his too heavy head against the spur of her shoulder and she'd slipped from the house like a ghost, slipped through the woods as if the two of them weren't quite real, and Sam dreamed about the world of the fae, the people of the mounds, hidden deep within the rolling hills._

_He woke up only when they stopped, the sound of the stream still present but distant, an uneven chuckle echoing through the empty woods, twisting through the thin trunks of the trees._

_Sam slowly raised his head._

_"Mom...?" he mumbled, lifting a hand to rub at his eye. His mother was unclear in his sleep fogged vision, secrets in her eyes and on the edges of her lips._

_"Shh," she hushed him and set him down on the stony ground. "Stay here, Sammy."_

_"What's going on?" he asked, looking up at her._

_He saw her smile then, slow and gentle, all the stories she'd told him gathering in his head, whispering at the edge of the wood. She cupped his chin, eyes full of joy._

_"Don't worry, baby... We're going to change everything." Then she stood up, her fingers drifting away from him like the mist, and if he'd known it was the last time she would ever touch him he would have reached for her, held on until she gave up and came home._

_Instead, he sat there on the ground, watching her in the dim light of pre-dawn, watching the swirl of her white night dress, watching her mud stained feet slip over the ground without weight, her hair loose and still, as if the air was still sleeping as well and had not yet woken to blow._

_He watched as his mother moved towards a huge creature, pearlescent white and gigantic, bigger than anything Sam could imagine, and his little mouth fell open at the sight of it, its feathered wings relaxed next to the great barrel of its chest, it's long neck arched._

_A demon._

_His mind flashed back to the drawings in his mother's book, in the beautiful arch of her drawings, charcoal sweeping across parchment. He'd seen the demons in his mother's eyes when she looked out to the sea as a storm came in, as she looked along the ridges of the cliffs, looked straight as the crow flew, he was certain, straight down to the cliffsides where the demons nested, to lands beyond the edge of Sam's imagining._

_The demon was quiet -- not the angry screams that Sam was used to hearing, waking him suddenly from his slumber -- just sitting there, body seemingly at ease, though it would shift and shuffle every few seconds, becoming more nervous as Sam's mother approached._

_He was tempted to yell to her, to get her attention, to warn her away. To remind her that Daddy said different. That he said that the demons were dangerous. Evil. Killers. Daddy had always said to run._

_But Sam had always liked the world through his mother's eyes more -- a world that just needed some time and attention, a little fixing, to become better. A world that had something more than struggling to get by, something more than just stubbornness. A world that had hope._

_So Sam stayed silent, a little afraid of garnering the demon's attention anyway, and he just watched. Watched as his mother moved slowly closer, reaching out, arm lifting and hand stretching out towards the demon. Seeking touch._

_And the demon responded._

_Its head lowered, shifting slightly, extending its neck towards Sam's mother. It sniffed the air, puffs of breath that Sam could hear in the still of the early morning. He could hear his mother's voice -- not forming words but just making sounds, the same nonsense noises she made whenever Sam was sick or sad or upset, murmured into his ear as she held him. That delicate spell, the hushed promises of a mother, seemed to work as well on the demon as it did on Sam because before his eyes he could see the demon beginning to relax, leaning in, and Sam held his breath, felt the whole world draw close and still as his mother's hand came to rest gently, tenderly, on the hard scale of the demon's snout._

_From where he was sitting, he could only just make out her smile, a newly born expression._

_"Lilith..." she murmured._

_And under her hand, a small light began to glow._

_That peace, that single moment of beauty, passed in the wake of an ear splitting scream, a roar of anger and rage that split the air, broke the early morning in two, and Sam screamed as well, clapping his little hands to his ears and slamming his eyes tight shut as he curled over. He didn't see what happened, only yelled, yelled for his mother, for the protection that he had the utmost childish faith in. He wanted her arms around him, with the complete belief that those arms could guard him from anything. The wind beat down against him in waves, and Sam curled tighter, hearing another demon yell, two at the same time, and then a screech of pain._

_"Sam!" His mother's voice managed to reach him through all the noise, through his hands over his ears, and he opened his eyes wide, searching for her._

_The clearing was a blur, was too much at once, Sam's vision ghosting over the vague outline of the white demon and ignoring it, looking, searching instead for his mother. He saw her, finally, in the center of the clearing and running towards him, but behind her was something_ awful. _Something huge and dark and fetid, skin rotting off of its jaws and angry spikes splitting up from its body, out of its wings and its shoulders and its back. It was behind her, and more terrifying than anything that Sam had ever seen._

_His mother was running towards him, but she wasn't light anymore. She didn't flow over the rocks like air or water or anything so quick and fleet. She stumbled and flailed like something graceless and alive, a fumbling body of meat and bone, anchored to the ground, and Sam opened his mouth but nothing came out._

_He watched in silent horror as the monster tore her apart, her scream quick and piercing but brief, like a light flaring brightly and then winking out just as quick._

_Sam sat on the stone and stared, his mother's blood flecked across his cheeks, his hands held tense and shaking, not knowing what to do with them._

_And there was nothing between him and the devil himself._

_It came to him, claws grinding over stone, scratching grooves into the rock, the sun held back from rising by the creature's mere presence, and Sam couldn't breathe. He felt himself trying, his tiny chest struggling to take in air, to yell, to scream, to run, but he couldn't. He could only stare into its yellow eyes, bright and mad and full of malice, caught in its gaze. He could see the pale bone of its skull, bared by a flap of rotted skin that was hanging limply from the side of its face, half of one of its long ears gone, its giant wings hanging in tatters._

_It was dead._

_It was already dead and nothing could stop it because it had survived death and come out the other side still breathing._

_Sam heard himself whimper, but it sounded strange and far away, and the monster's paw lashed out, slamming down around Sam, forcing him back to lay flat on the ground, pinned on all sides by claws the size of his body. It didn't hurt, not yet. There wasn't a scratch on him -- just the weight of the thing's paw against his chest as it leaned over him, peered down at him, horrible yellow eyes hung like dead harvest moons and within them was the reflection of a growing light, perfect and bright. The beast leered, fetid jaw open and diseased tongue lolling and Sam gagged on the smell, beginning to cry in panic._

_It leaned over him, intent in its eyes,_ knowledge _in its eyes, knowing and self aware. It was more than just a monster, more than an animal hunting prey. It was all the evil inside of man, sewn into the hide of a heinous predator._

_Sam was too young to understand all of that, too small to grip it. All he knew, as he stared into those sickly pus colored eyes, looking past that radiant light, was that he was looking into the face of pure evil, and he screamed as loud as he could, a piercing, desperate wail, as every piece of goodness in him rebelled and tried to flee._

_The torn, black bleeding lips of the beast spread into a smile, baring every stained fang, leaning in, leaning closer, close enough that Sam's eyes began to cross to stare at it, tears bleeding into his hairline as he gasped for breath, every inch of him shivering with revulsion and fear._

_"Sammy!"_

_The eyes were getting closer, taking over his world, dominating it until there was nothing left, sickly green woven in with the yellow, the dark slits narrowing even as they got bigger, closer to him, threatening to consume him. He could distantly hear the heavy footsteps of his father and the other hunters._

_"SAM!"_

_There was the wet smack of a tongue against dry bone, the stench overpowering, making Sam retch through every shaky breath, and something was glowing. Something was beginning to glow, spreading--_

__"SAMMY!"

\-----

Sam woke with a start and had no idea where he was, his heart racing.

He sucked in a breath, sitting bolt upright and breathing hard, the memory of his mother drifting bright and vivid through his head, and it wasn't hard to understand why. Not with everything that had happened yesterday.

Ruby was nosing at him, making little plaintive whines, and he lifted a hand to comfort her, rubbing over her nose ridges.

"Shh, shh... I'm okay. I'm okay. Did I scare you?" He sighed, leaning into her as she settled back down against him -- where they'd been sleeping, apparently. "I'm sorry."

He glanced around, finding himself curled up on the ground behind some dry scrub brush, with no real idea of where he was or how he got there.

He searched his memory and winced when he found the last thing he remembered was fleeing from his home, the shouts of 'traitor' still ringing in his ears. Going back wasn't an option, that was for sure. After that, though, all he remembered was clinging to Ruby as they flew out to sea, and eventually passing out over her back. 

He was just lucky he hadn't fallen to his death.

Wherever Ruby had taken them, he'd had no part in the decision, and the last thing he'd seen was the horizon line, his demon making no apparent attempts to take them back towards the shore. At the time, he hadn't really been thinking at all, his brain too turned off and in too much pain over what had happened, what he'd lost. As he looked back, he was assuming that Ruby had just been flying out to get away from the hunters, and would return to land somewhere to the east or west of Lawrence, but taking in his surroundings and seeing nothing familiar, Sam felt something heavy settle in his stomach.

"Ruby..." he murmured. "Where'd you take us?"

He got to his feet unsteadily, standing up so he could see over the scrub brush, and couldn't help the quick inhale of breath when he saw a completely foreign landscape -- a long, hard stretch of land, no trees or cover, the ground less like dirt and more like stone, greyed out in the moonlight. There was dry scrub, like the kind they were hiding behind, dotting over the ridges and crags, but that was about all there was in terms of vegetation. It was barren. Nothing could live here, with no safety, no where to burrow a den or build a nest. There was no water except the ocean beating up against the sides of the island, and Sam knew instantly that it was an island because the rocky ground sloped up into jagged hills where Sam could just make out the distant forms of demons, walking or flying, some of them curled up for the night. 

Sam knew it was an island because he knew it was the Hell Gate. The home of the demons.

"Gods, Ruby...I can't believe you brought me here..." he murmured, blown away by it and a little afraid. He was comfortable with Ruby, and even a little more comfortable with the idea of other demons now, but that didn't mean they wouldn't kill him if they found him. Despite all the things he'd said back at the village, he didn't know for certain that the demons wouldn't hold a grudge for all the time humans had fought back against them. The humans were only defending themselves, sure, but from the demons' perspective, they were slaves being controlled, thrown against savage creatures with sharpened metal claws over and over again.

Sam couldn't say that in the mind of an animal that wouldn't amount to hate over time, even if the Death's control was broken.

He swallowed hard and settled back down against Ruby, not wanting any of the other demons to see him over the scrub brush. His mind automatically went straight back to what had happened earlier in the day -- to being ousted by his clan and his family. He took whatever cold comfort he could in the fact that his father didn't want him dead; had, in fact, specifically said he wouldn't see Sam killed. He wasn't sure the thought was much comfort at all -- it was only the last inch or so before rock bottom, after all.

Which was where he was with the rest of his people, several of whom had been more than eager to see him chucked from the cliffs like so much trash. Like the worst kind of criminal. Which, Sam supposed, he was, in their minds. A traitor who'd befriended the enemy, and that, at least, was true. He'd befriended Ruby. He just didn't think that that meant to the exclusion of his own people. He no more wanted them to die as he did the demons.

The look on Bobby's face, sad and reticent but resigned, that bleak disappointment, like Sam had betrayed him personally, and he hadn't said that Sam should be killed, but he also hadn't voiced an objection when others suggested it. Cleric Jim watching with pity and love, aching but not saying a word.

Sam could imagine his father, pressed against the table in their home that night, drinking down his malt one after the other, that heavy expression on his face. The one that Sam always saw as a closed book to him, that world weariness that would never wash away, no matter how many years passed. He imagined his father drinking until he could sleep, and then rising again to take the ships out once more.

There was no question that they'd sail for the Hell Gate tomorrow, after Sam's dramatic escape. No question that tomorrow would bring the ships, and the day after, war.

Sam screwed his face up in a grimace.

He rolled over, tucking his head in against Ruby's elbow, and he felt her flare one wing, using it to cover him like a blanket. Sam tried to sleep again and did his best not to think about Dean at all.

\-----

Waiting for the ships the next day was the closest thing to torture Sam had ever experienced.

He felt like he was waiting on a precipice, and there was nothing to distract him. He couldn't go exploring the Hell Gate, not wanting to risk the Yellow Eyed Death knowing he was there, which left him stuck behind the scrub brush as Ruby flew off to hunt and fish. Sam watched her from the edge of their hideaway, his eyes vaguely following her as she soared over the waves, pressed into the wind so that she almost hovered, searching the dark sea for her prey, but his mind was elsewhere.

His sleep had been blissfully dreamless, but waking had only brought back the images of men and women he'd known his whole life staring at him with horror and betrayal, and the images of leaving his home for the last time, knowing he'd never be going back. And knowing that he still had the option to run, to live out his life in relative peace, but that he didn't know if he could live any kind of life at all if he ran from this now. If he left the demons and his people to fight and die, the both of them to languish under the Yellow Eyed Death's control -- after all, the Death was using the humans like puppets as much as he was the demons, just in a different way.

It had been easy enough to play them, to make them hate and fear the demons, and to eventually decide to wipe the demons out, even though they'd be risking their own lives in the foolish attempt.

So, yes. Sam could run. 

Run like a coward from his responsibilities and prove them all right. 

His hands clenched in the cloth on his elbows, his arms around his propped up knees.

He raised his head as strong winds signaled Ruby's approach, watched her set down, her front paws steadying herself on the earth. She looked over at him and then deposited a large fish into his lap, Sam scrambling to catch it.

"Crap!" he cursed as he fumbled, finally managing to get a grip on the slimy thing, still faintly struggling for life. "This for me, then?"

She just peered at him. He'd seem her catch four or five other fish of the same size, swallowing them whole while in the air, and he figured she must have eaten her fill. He didn't feel hungry right now, but he knew that was just the nerves. He needed to eat something, and it would provide a worthy distraction.

Thankfully, he'd had his small knife on him when Ruby'd come for him(and gods, hadn't that been something -- she must have heard him screaming, must have come rushing for him; to _save_ him), and he pulled it off of his belt to quickly gut and kill the fish. Living beside the sea as he had for the entirety of his life thus far(possibly all the life he was going _get_ ), cleaning and cooking fish was second instinct, and he quickly and proficiently pulled out most of the bones, leaving the skin for the time being. He hadn't often seen fish of this size back home, when the boats came back to dock with their hauls splayed out on board, everyone working together to move the take them up to the village. Sam could only figure that the fishermen couldn't go as far out as the Hell Gate, and the demons had superior fishing, this deep into the ocean.

Ruby watched him curiously as he worked, eventually setting the fish down on a rock and setting up a fire pit with dried leaves and twigs, sparking it by slashing his knife over a stone. He didn't have enough tinder to start a fire, so he'd have to rest the fish down in the embers and then skin it afterward to take the ash off. He leaned down to blow on the cracked leaves, adding more in until heat had built up, eventually burying the fish in amongst them with a reasonably stiff stick.

He remembered doing this with Dean, down on the beach when they were younger, when Dean was full of anger and fire and Sam was as dead and cold as the stars.

He cursed and almost threw the stick into the embers, ruining all his hard work. He barely managed to hold back, instead crawling away from the pit and leaving the fish to cook. 

He could still vividly remember Dean tossing rocks into the sea, watching them disappear into the waves. Remembered sitting calmly on the beach while his brother raved at the waves like it would make some kind of difference. He remembered Dean turning to yell at him, yell at him to say something, to speak like Sam hadn't since the funeral, to do more than just sit there and watch. He remembered his brother shaking him, yelling in his face, spittle flecking like salt water, and then the sharp sting of a slap across his cheek, so unexpected that Sam didn't even know what it was until he turned his reddening face back to Dean, his brother's face a mask of shock.

Dean had embraced him later, when the sun had set and they'd found enough wood to start a small fire. Dean had put his arms around Sam and held him, apologized, promised never to hit him again -- a promise that Dean had kept, all these years -- promised that he'd do anything at all if Sam would just talk again.

After the fire had died down, and they had nothing else to burn, the two of them sitting in silence, Dean had found them a couple of small fish caught in a tide pool from where the sea had shrunk back and left them, and he'd tucked the slippery things into the embers to let them cook.

The two of them had waited on their meager meal for over an hour, playing games and drawing things in the sand -- innocent things, like monsters and great warriors fighting them, unlike a few years later, when all Dean would draw was grossly exaggerated parts of male and female anatomy, just to see the faces Sam would make -- for a moment, the two of them just brothers and not survivors in the wake of their mother's death.

They'd eaten the fish together, and it was the first and last day his brother had ever struck him, and it was one of the best days of his life.

Sam gnawed on the cloth of his shirt, the cloth around his wrist, bitter anger rolling through him.

He was going to die tomorrow -- die doing what he believed was right. He was going to show them all just how much of a coward he wasn't, and yet they'd probably still only remember him as a traitor and a fool. They would spit on his name, and his father would drink his way through it, his eyes narrowing whenever someone ever dared to mention Sam or Mary's names around him but doing little else, and Jim would maybe look a little sad for a few seconds before moving on to preach to a new generation of hunters.

And only Dean would ever cry for his little brother.

Of course, who was Sam kidding? They were all going to be dead, after tomorrow. 

"Fuck," he mumbled, kicking out at the dry dirt, sending swirls of it curling up in the air, and Ruby lifted her head to quirk it at him curiously. For once, he didn't respond.

He was mad. Not at her, but the unfairness of the world.

He could run, but he wouldn't.

He wasn't going to fight, but he was going to die.

He was going to die for his people and for the demons equally, and yet they would both see him as an enemy.

Life just wasn't fair.

He glared at the fire pit until the fish was blackened on the outside, and he pulled it out to cool on the rock, the scent making his mouth water and his stomach finally begin to growl, admitting its hunger in between the bouts of emotion induced nausea. When it was cool enough that he wouldn't burn his fingers off, he began to carefully skin the thing, sucking up the soft juice that ran over his fingers and cramming the meat into his mouth. He spat some of the small bones out, but ended up eating most of them and didn't pay it much mind, too hungry to be picky. Ruby looked at the cooked fish carcass like she couldn't believe he would do something like that to a lovely, fresh fish, but he ignored her.

Instead, he thought of Dean's face when they'd come for him, when they'd grabbed him and cried for blood. He thought of Dean's eyes, full of fear and focused fully on Sam, wanting to call out, to defend him, and held back only by Sam's signal to warn him off -- that Dean would only damn himself by coming to Sam's aid.

He thought of Dean, unable to kill Lilith, and he could only hope that even if he'd done nothing else with his life, even if he was going to die for people that hated him and would think nothing of him, that maybe one person would remember him.

One person would look at the demons and know that they could be more than just bloodthirsty pawns used in a game they'd never consented to play.

By the time that night fell, and Sam saw the lights of the ships as they pulled up along the shore and begin to set up camp, he knew that he had to see that person one last time.

He had to see his brother before he died.

\-----

Sneaking into camp wasn't easy. Convincing Ruby to stay back while he went was harder.

After yesterday, when he'd made her stay away only to scare her by almost getting himself killed, she was fairly adamant about staying by his side. He insisted he'd be fine, but she gave him a look almost like she understood him, and it was clearly skeptical. She ended up creeping along with him to the edge of camp and staying there. She seemed to be content in the knowledge that if anything went wrong, she'd be nearby.

Sam couldn't say he wasn't grateful for the backup.

It was spitting lightly, and all the hunters had their hoods and cowls up, wandering around between tents. It was good luck in that regard -- Sam would be able to hide his face and no one would look at him too closely. After all, the hunters were the only humans on the isle, so they were only on the lookout for demons. One extra human making his way through the campsite would just be taken as another member of the war party and not suspect.

Sam pulled his own hood out from under his shirt, pulling it over his head, protecting him from the occasional small drops of rain as he wandered through the rows of tents, light glowing out from most of them. He jerked when he passed a firepit and the hunters gathered around it roared with laughter, toasting and cheering their anticipated victory tomorrow. It was foolish -- thinking that they would win just because of some bow and an arrogant belief that they were destined to.

Tomorrow would bring blood and corpses and little else, and for what? For a promise made eleven years ago, made in pain and anger.

After generations of fighting the elements to live until tomorrow, the people of Lawrence wouldn't be defeated by the cold or the winter or the spiteful earth, but by stubborn Winchester pride.

Sam shook his head. He shouldn't have felt any surprise.

Finding Dean's tent wasn't hard, but it was dangerous. After all, Dean would be camped with their father. There was no point in them having separate tents, spreading resources thin just for privacy. Sam lingered around the center of camp, disliking how much ground there was between him and safety -- him and Ruby. He did his best to ignore all the scenarios his head was presenting himself with, of Ruby running through the camp, hunters taking up weapons to kill her long before she reached Sam. That worry made him want to rush, to hurry, but he wouldn't be doing Ruby any favors if he got caught. If last time was any indication, it would just increase the likelihood of her putting herself in danger.

Sam finally spotted his father over with some of the other hunters, their heads bent together and voices hushed, clearly discussing strategy for tomorrow. Whatever kind of strategy they could come up with to fight hundreds of demons at once. Sam shook his head.

He edged back towards the awning of the central tent, reaching behind him to find the flap. He glanced around, checking all avenues before he was certain that no one was looking his way and slipping quickly inside, letting the flap fall to hide him.

"Hey," Dean's voice was immediate, the tent far from large enough for a sudden entrance to be ignored, and Sam whirled around. "What're you--...."

Dean broke off then, his expression of mild irritation changing instantly to shock. He blinked a few times, lips slightly parted, and Sam felt something in his chest contract. This was probably the last time he'd ever get to see Dean, in any fashion. It was probably the last time he'd get to see his brother's face and his brother's eyes and everything about the man, once boy, he admired so deeply.

Dean, who'd never quite been the same since their mother died, but was always Sam's brother.

The stupid, ridiculous love of Sam's life.

"Sam," Dean said, voice a croak, and Sam figured he was going to die tomorrow, might as well take what he could.

He threw himself at Dean, wrapping his arms tightly around his brother's neck, pressing his face into his brother's shoulder. Dean’s arms lifted up in surprise, but it was a few long heartbeats before they hesitantly came around Sam's waist.

"...are you going to tell them I'm here?" Sam asked hesitantly. It was nothing like how he'd sounded back home, yelling and screaming and fighting for something with everything in him.

"No," Dean replied, quiet. His arms tightened a little.

"I can't come home." It wasn't a question.

"No, you can't." It wasn't an answer.

The two of them just stood there in the center of the small camp tent, a plethora of weapons laid out over the blankets that would serve as beds, all of the blades cleaned and sharpened, ready to kill. Sam dripped on Dean, rain water dampening Dean's clothes, but neither of them moved.

"Don't do it, Dean," Sam asked finally. Pleaded. He didn't want his brother to be there tomorrow. He wanted Dean to live. He wanted him to live for so many reasons, not the least of which was that Dean was the only man who might be able to guide their people to a better future. The most of which, though, was that Sam wanted the world to have Dean in it.

"I have to." His brother shook his head infinitesimally. "Sam, it's our _family_ \--"

"Our _family_ has already asked too much of you. Just...just don't do it, Dean. I don't want you to die."

"Maybe we'll--"

Sam pulled back then, not enough to leave the embrace, but he yanked his head back just enough to look at Dean.

"Lie to me if you want to, but stop lying to yourself. This is suicide. For you, for dad... For everyone. The demons are going to die and you're going to die and the Yellow Eyed Death is going to be laughing over all our corpses."

" 'Our'?" Dean queried, his brow furrowing. Sam just shook his head.

"No, you listen to me. It's not wrong to run from someone telling you to do something wrong. You're not being a coward to stand up against this--this madness!"

"Shh! Gods, Sam." Dean's eyes darted around. "They will fucking kill you. Dad can't save you now. He'd never wanna hurt you, but after yesterday-- After Ruby flying in and you taking off with her... There's no way he could stop them."

Sam just pressed his lips together and spoke again, voice low and firm.

"I'd let them if it meant they wouldn't do this."

"Sam!" Dean hissed, his eyes widened. "Don't _say_ shit like that. The hell is wrong with you?"

"You and Dad have been trying to make me not fear death for years now, Dean. What's different?"

" _Nothing's_ different."

"Then why the hell are you upset that I've actually found something worth dying for?"

"’Cause nothing's worth you dying!" Dean's voice wasn't hushed or stealthy at all, his exclamation covered only by the sounds of camp around them. All the same, the two boys waited a few beats before speaking again, waiting for any possible retribution. "I _liked_ you being a coward, Sam. I liked that I knew you were safe."

"I was never a coward, you asshole. Don't you guys get it? Don't _any_ of you get it? I saw my mom ripped to shreds in front of me, and I saw the Yellow Eyed Death staring straight into my _soul._ None of you had to live with that. I wasn't a _coward._ I was a four year old trying to get better all by himself. And I'd just like to say, fuck you all for the way you treated me."

"Sam--"

"No! Do you even know what that was like? I actually thought I was crap. I actually thought that I was no good at anything. I thought I was the shameful second son that would never amount to anything. But they were wrong. I was a good leader. I cleared the harvest. I helped repair the store houses. I rationed the food until the seas cleared and I fought when the demons came. I was a _good person_ the whole time, and apparently what I needed was a freaking _demon_ to come along and show me that because my family was no where to be found!"

"Sam!" Dean slapped a hand over his brother's mouth and Sam glared at him. Dean glanced down, then away. "...you're right, okay? And for what it's worth, I'm sorry. I shoulda listened to you. Maybe--...Maybe a long time ago. But _I_ was fucked up too, and I need you to stop blaming me for working through it the only way I knew how. The...The letting people treat you like you weren't worth it, that's on me. But the fighting demons and joining the hunters and being with Dad? I'm not going to apologize for that. You're not the only one that had to carry Mom's death. You had to see it, and I...I'm so fuckin' sorry for that, Sammy. But you were the one she took with her." Dean swallowed hard, jaw tensing. "You were the one she wanted with her that night. Not Dad. Not...not me. I had her for four years before you and she still loved you more than me. She always did."

"Dean..." Sam softened, unable not to, reaching one hand up and then letting it lower back to Dean's shoulder. He'd never thought of his mother in those terms -- of ever loving anyone more than someone else. She'd always seemed to have so much love to give. But maybe that was just the perspective of the one most beloved.

"And I get that it wasn't your fault. I get that, now. But I--..."

"You blamed me?"

"...maybe. A little."

"Dean." Sam shook his head, shutting his eyes. He hung his head and thought it was ridiculous that this was happening now, that they were fixing this _now._ Outside, there was the clatter of old pans as hunters milled around, serving whatever food they'd brought with them. Probably only enough for one night -- an all or nothing gamble. They were either going home tomorrow or they weren't going home at all.

It was ridiculous that it took the end of their people, that it took them to the last night before the last dawn, before he and Dean worked out all of this stuff and finally cleared the air between them.

And Sam could only wish that they'd done it years ago, when they would have had more time to be brothers and less time to make mistakes.

"And I get why she loved you more too. I understand why someone would--" Dean cut off, his voice so very strange and his thumb touching Sam's jaw for a moment. The way Dean focused on him, looked at him -- straight into him and not for any light but just for _him,_ had Sam flushing slightly. "I'm sorry," Dean continued. "For treating you like shit. For making you think I didn't--"

He just shrugged a little once, glancing away.

"Love me?" Sam asked, smiling a little.

"I was going to say 'give a shit,' Dean huffed.

"I missed you," Sam replied, whole heartedly. Dean glanced down at him, expression softening a little and, if Sam wasn't mistaken, his neck actually turned a little redder. He looked somewhat guilty, which hadn't been Sam's goal.

"I'm--"

This time, it was Sam's turn to put a hand over his brother's mouth.

"Don't say 'I'm sorry' again," he said, looking at Dean. "We were both messed up. It just sucks that now is the time we bother to sort it out."

Dean reached up, grasping Sam's wrist to pull his hand away, and Sam shivered a little at the contact, Dean's thumb pressed to the inside of his wrist.

"Stop talking like we're not going to make it tomorrow."

"There's a good chance--"

"Fuck that."

"Dean--"

"Fuck. That. I'm not losing anyone else. Not you, Sammy. Not you, and I'm not planning on checking out either."

"Dean, I have to stop this. I have to-- This war is going to kill everyone I care about, and just making declarative statements isn't going to be enough to block out all the teeth and claws that're going to be bearing down on you tomorrow."

"I can't leave Dad, man. I just... _can't."_

"But you've seen Ruby," Sam pleaded, knowing he was getting a little desperate. "You _know_ they're not all bad."

"I don't _know_ anything. I'm... I know I'm not as sure as I used to be. But even if I refused, what the hell am I going to do? Stand against an entire army of hunters?"

Sam was silent, and after a second Dean's eyes widened, his hands snapping up to grab Sam's shoulders.

"Sam, _no._ They'd kill you as soon as look at you. It's not like they're going to feel bad if you get caught in the crossfire."

"I have to do something, Dean. This is wrong. This is... _wrong."_

"Just go. Take your--Take Ruby and just go. Fly off somewhere we've never heard of and just live your life. You deserve that much."

"And what about you?" Sam demanded crossly. "You deserve an early grave or something? What about Dad? What about all the other hunters? They're my friends, my people. And...okay, right now they want me dead, but that doesn't make them _not_ my people. And I can't let them wipe out the demons either. I'm not a coward. I'm not going to run away."

"You're my brother, man," Dean replied, like it was nothing. Like it was the easiest thing to give. Like it was everything. "I don't want you to _die."_

"And you think I want to see you die any more? I have to do this, Dean. I have to do _something._ Mom wouldn't have wanted this."

"Sam--"

There was a sudden sound near the entrance of the tent and Sam jumped, heart thudding in his chest. He and Dean stopped breathing, staring at the flap and seeing a shadow there. They could hear their father's voice through the canvas, talking over his shoulder to someone. Dean's hands gripped Sam even tighter, fingers digging in.

A minute later the shadow moved away, called over by another voice, treading around the tent and in the opposite direction.

Sam let out a big breath.

"That was close," Dean murmured.

"I have to go." Sam turned back to his brother, who was shaking his head.

"We're not done here, Sam."

"I can't stay."

"I don't care. Talking to Dad is still better than you pulling some crazy stunt. He's not going to hurt you. He may be pissed but he's still your dad. So long as you stay in here and no one sees you, he doesn't have to tell the others that you're here -- speaking of, how the hell did you get here?" Dean shook his head. "Nevermind. We can...hide you or something -- until you can get back to Ruby, or to the boats. And I don't care what you say, I'm not letting you die, not tomorrow or any day after. So you can just sit down and shut up because I'm not going to let you go until Dad gets back, so you better get used to it--"

Sam pushed himself up into Dean's grasp as opposed to away and pressed his lips against his brother's.

He'd been listening. He really had. It was just that it was hard to concentrate when Dean was being so freaking _Dean_ about the whole thing. And not Dean like the last few years, but Dean like when they were kids. The Dean that Sam had fallen in love with, when he was only four years old and only knew love by how it made his heart feel full.

It hadn't been something he'd ever planned on telling his brother, but he was going to die tomorrow.

He might as well take a little something for himself.

Dean's hands loosened in shock as Sam lowered himself back to his heels, and he now easily shook Dean off, stepping back. He smiled at his brother -- happy, but full of goodbye.

"I love you too," he said simply, his love different from Dean's fraternal affection; sicker, but just as true. Sam's lips felt warm and wet, though Dean had been frozen still and unresponsive. "Just so you know."

Dean was still staring at him, agape, and Sam didn't want to hear whatever it was Dean was going to say next, once he regained his senses and the disgust came flooding in. After all, the whole point had been that Sam wouldn't have to live with the repercussions.

He’d never see his brother again, after this.

"Bye, Dean," he said, as simple as he could make it, and that seemed to shake Dean out of his stupor, but it was too late. Sam was turning and jogging out of the tent, pulling his hood up, and he heard Dean come after him, heard Dean hiss _'Sam!'_ just outside the tent flap, but it was too late, and Dean couldn't chase him down without calling attention to them. Without calling attention to Sam and getting the hunters involved. 

Sam didn't look back, just jogged through the lines of tents, zig-zagging to make sure he lost his brother completely, until he left the lights of their fires and lanterns and began to climb up the slope to where he'd left Ruby.

He could still feel the kiss on his lips. 

It was going to be a long night.

\-----

_The ground was so hard with the cold, when they laid Sam's mother into it, that it took six men digging for two days to get it deep enough._

_They put her in a wooden box, and the whittler had carved a picture of the sun and the thistle on the top._

_Using ropes, four hunters lowered her into the ground, and Sam had stood by his brother and watched. He had a handful of half-crushed heather that he'd picked that morning in his hand, and before they started throwing dirt, Sam darted forward and let it fall down onto the coffin._

_He stood at the edge and watched the hole begin to fill up._

_It didn't seem like his mother was really in the box. He knew she was dead, understood that, but it still didn't seem like it made sense. The box was so plain and nothing like a human, nothing like his mother, that it was easy to imagine that it was empty. Sam watched the dirt fall down on it, cascades of black specks, until he couldn't see the box anymore, and he continued to watch._

_"Sam," Dean's voice came from beside him, and Sam finally looked up. He could feel the harsh cold of winter against his face, but harsher where the tears had run. He sniffled, but when he looked, he saw that Dean's face was stony and dry._

_"Stop crying," Dean demanded, anger in his tone. Sam sniffled again and tried his best, but the tears just kept coming. He lifted a hand to scrub at his cheeks, trying to clean up the mess of his face, and he waited for Dean to embrace him, like Dean always did when Sam cried -- waited for the warm hush of Dean's voice in his ear, telling him that everything would be okay. But Dean didn't reach for him, and instead of softness, Sam heard a sound of disgust._

_When he opened his eyes, Dean was looking at him, eyes so dark and stormy that they scared Sam, because Dean looked nothing like his brother. Didn't look anything like the brother that Sam knew, and he wondered where Dean had gone._

_"Stop being such a little kid," Dean demanded, and he kicked a pile of dirt into the grave. "She's gone and crying isn't going to bring her back."_

_He paused, waiting for Sam's response, but Sam's breath just hitched as he tried to catch it, tried to make himself stop crying, to do what Dean said, but he couldn't._

_"Say something," Dean demanded, and it had been days since Sam spoke. Since his mother had taken him from his bed and down into the clearing. Sam opened his mouth, let it hang, but nothing came out. "Damn it, say something!"_

_"Now," a voice interrupted them, and Sam glanced up to see Cleric Jim. He reached down, resting his right hand over Dean's shoulder. "We don't need any of that. Why don't you go back into the village? I'll make sure Sam gets home safe."_

_Sam didn't want Dean to go. He wanted to curl up in his big brother's arms, just like he was used to, but Dean didn't look at him. Dean was looking at the grave, that same burning anger in his eyes, and he finally turned, shaking out of Jim's hand with a grumbled _'fine,'_ walking away._

_"You alright, son?" Jim asked, and Sam opened his mouth to reply again, but just like last time, nothing came out._

_"Well," Jim continued softly, voice too full of understanding. "Alright then... You just stay here, I guess. Your dad and I are just over there. You tell us if you need anything."_

_Jim stood there and stared at him, apparently waiting for a response that Sam couldn't quite summon. Eventually, Sam managed a weak nod of his head, and that seemed to mollify the man, who walked away, over to the small copse of trees that Sam's father was standing beside._

_The grave was almost half full now. Caleb and Ellen were both working with shovels, one scoop after the other, and Sam noticed they weren't crying either. Dean was right -- no one else was crying. Not even their dad. Even so, Sam couldn't seem to stop it, no matter how hard he tried. Even when he held his breath, his lips would tremble and his chest would hitch and shake, until his eyes closed tight, shoulders drawing up, and the tears came again, because his mother was in a box and nothing was ever going to be the same._

_And Sam was scared of going home with his dad and his brother, neither of whom could look at anything without anger and hate. He wanted to talk to his mother about it. She would know what to do, how to comfort him. She would tell him what his dad and Dean were thinking, and that he just needed to give them time and that they were dealing with it the only way they knew how._

_But his mother's grave was silent._

_Sam lifted an arm to scrub at his face again, neither Caleb nor Ellen looking at him._

_Behind him, he could hear his father and Jim._

_"You and your boys will be alright," Jim said. "You know the village will look out for you."_

_"I wasn't concerned about that."_

_"John..."_

_"I know what I saw."_

_"Your boys need you."_

_"It had yellow eyes. She was always afraid of it. She knew it would come for her. When I got to the clearing, it was leaning over Sam, and it looked_ straight at me. _I know what I saw."_

_"I don't doubt it, John. I'm just saying that I don't know what we do about it."_

_"I know what we do, Jim." Sam's father's voice was hard like steel, like the grit and grind of a blade against the whet stone. It hurt to listen to, like every word had a sharp edge, sharp enough to cut. "We kill them all. It's long past time we did. We've abided their presence for far too long, let a danger like that live on the edges of our town. It's my fault this happened but it's not going to happen again. I'm going to put a stop to it."_

_Sam stared down as they filled the grave in and silenced his mother's voice, and Sam didn't know how he was going to talk either, the fear in him so brilliant and overwhelming, and wherever he looked he saw those_ eyes, _saw them looking into him, looking into his light, and no one, not even his mother, could protect him._

_The fear made him shake, took him over, until he was certain he'd never feel anything else._

_He had already seen his own death and the claws that it waited in._

_Behind him, his father made a promise to all who would hear him, so distant and petty and human, and it rang as only a hollow afterthought to the fear._

_"I'll kill every last one of them."_

\-----

The morning was grey and overcast, and it seemed appropriate.

Sam came to Ruby's side, rubbing over her shoulder. She was shaking her head, her eyes dilating and contracting continuously, yellow occasionally flaring at the edges of her irises, and Sam knew she was fighting the control of the Yellow Eyed Death.

This close, it would be hard for her to shake him off, but Sam could only hope that the monster's awareness was stretched enough just trying to control all the other demons at once.

"You okay, girl?" he asked, looking up at her as he scratched the scales of her belly. She turned her head to look at him, then butted it against him, looking for more pets. Sam wrapped his arms around her, holding her against his chest.

"It'll be okay..." He swallowed hard, knowing that 'okay' no longer meant anything better than death, than being removed from the equation. He pursed his lips. "You can still run, you know... You don't have to do this with me."

He pulled back, looking into one of her huge eyes, and she let out a hot blast of air. Sam could keenly remember being terrified of her, of feeling that age old fear of demons running rampant through him, the memory of maddened yellow eyes burned into him. He remembered looking at Ruby for the first time and thinking she would tear him apart, eat him. That she'd play with him like a cat did a mouse, and he'd follow his mother's legacy -- walking into his death at the claws of a demon.

Now he looked at Ruby with nothing but trust, no idea what he ever found frightening about those crimson eyes or those shiny black claws. Ruby was what she was, and she couldn't help that, just like Sam couldn't help that he wasn't a hunter. 

And they were friends -- a failure of a demon and a failure of a demon hunter.

Ruby didn't take off or fly away.

"...yeah, alright," Sam murmured, and kissed the end of her nose.

No matter what happened now, they were seeing this to the end.

\-----

They flew high over the battleground, soaring over the barren ridges of the demon's isle, until the rocks gave way to a long, open slate of dried dirt and stone.

Below them, Sam could see his own people lined up, their weapons held ready and proud. On the other side of the canyon the demons were waiting, screaming and calling in challenge, their tails and wings shifting in readiness.

In the center of their ranks, Sam saw a huge dark figure, a creature of nightmare and the monster of Sam's childhood -- the Yellow Eyed Death, the leader of the demons and the creature responsible for the death of Sam's mother. Just looking at it sent a shiver up Sam's spine, memories of its terrible dead eyes glowing from inside of Sam's skull, alive and insidious in his mind.

It was a giant of a thing, bigger than any other demon on the field by far and all black. Not sleek and beautiful like Ruby, but a dull, rotted black, like the edges of infected meat, like necrotic flesh. There were open wounds on its body oozing pus instead of blood -- wounds not brought about by war or battle, but by placing its undead mass in the heat of the sun, flesh splitting open under the light of day. Scabs of skin hung from its jaw and neck, the ridges of its vertebrae, its bones, pushing through the leather of its back.

It was just as horrifying a vision as Sam remembered, and he couldn't hold back the shudder.

This time, though, he wasn't going to run away.

He reached down, tapping Ruby's left shoulder, feeling her bank and drop, her wings shifting to gentle their descent for Sam's sake. He held on steadily until they reached the ground, Ruby's back arching as she carefully put her rear legs down, then her front ones, trotting over the ground as she folded her wings in, and Sam hopped from her back. His boots struck against rock, and he looked up to see both armies -- one on either side -- all of them staring at him and Ruby, murmurs coming from the humans and low growls and grumbles coming from the demons.

Sam tried to spot his father, his brother, but even leading the Celts as they were, they were hidden in amongst the masses. Sam swallowed hard and turned to Ruby.

"It's okay," he murmured, reaching up for her nose. "We'll show them. You and I."

Ruby lowered her head, long neck arching, and Sam pressed his forehead to her's. He shut his eyes.

"We're the same. Both of us lost someone to this...Both of us orphans, and no matter what, we won't fight. We won't fight." Even if they died, as Sam knew they would, no one could take away what they had here. Ruby lifted both wings from her back, reaching out to wrap them around Sam's body, pressing against his back, right between his shoulderblades -- his form not small, but made small in her much larger presence. He moved his own hands up to either side of her scaly head. "We won't fight, and we'll show them."

They wouldn't fight and no one could make them. And no one could say that they weren't here, proving before man and the gods that this battle didn't have to happen.

"You and I," Sam murmured, and then there was a roar -- a demon scream that echoed and clanged, loud enough to shake the earth and shatter the skies, but Sam refused to move, and Ruby refused to leave him.

His hands held on tighter, feeling the gaze of the Yellow Eyed Death on him, feeling it focus on him and Ruby.

_"He killed them one by one, while he sacrificed the other demons to his cause, and took our people to keep his power. And as sure as he is evil, he will come for me. And one day, for you. You mustn't let him have you, Sam. Whatever happens, you mustn't let him have you. No matter what."_

There was a second scream, rage and anger and unending hatred billowing across the battlefield like a wave, like the hiss of scalding steam, seeking to flay skin and rend flesh. The hatred of a creature a thousand years dead and still walking. Sam had felt the fear in the face of that hatred, and had lived with it ever since. Carried it with him, breathed in it and slept in it all his life. Had been branded a coward and a fool because a demon as old as the gods had stared into him and burned away his ignorance -- his ability to pretend that the world was better than it was. To pretend that death could ever be good or glorious. His ability to pretend that the world wasn't strange and terrifying, because he knew too much -- knew what death looked like, and he could never forget it.

But he wasn't four years old anymore, covered in his mother's blood and struggling just to breathe.

He was older, on the verge of becoming a man, and with him, against him, refusing to leave him, was the truest friend he'd ever had: a demon, not much older than him, still young and growing, who stood with him now, ready to die, not for glory but because they both refused to run anymore, even in the face of all that hate.

Sam wrapped his arms around her and he kissed her nose, just like he had that morning.

"Love you," he murmured, and she answered him with a warm thrum.

Sam had never stopped feeling fear, but he'd finally stopped running.

 _"Sam!"_ someone yelled, disrupting the somber veil of the battlefield, and despite himself, Sam jerked his head up, searching the crowd for that voice, that familiar voice, unmistakable: his family and the person he loved above all else. His gaze scanned back and forth, seeking out his brother's face in a crowd of faceless people and finding nothing. He felt his chest pinch, and then something reflected, light off of steel, and Sam's eyes snapped immediately to it.

He saw his father, sighting down the line of an arrow, nocked into the curve of a wondrous bow, the demon killing bow with its deadly projectile. Sighting down the line of the arrow and straight to Ruby's hide. 

In the next breath, John fired, and Sam could hear the faint _twang_ of the bow string at the same moment that his heart skipped a beat. He didn't have a moment to think about it or even consider. Even the smallest injury from such a weapon would kill Ruby, and Sam felt the bolt impact his chest before he even realized he'd moved, run under Ruby's wing to take the hit, and he heard someone far away scream, a sound of complete agony and heartbreak, before he heard Ruby match the sound, sitting back on her haunches to catch him in her front legs, the webbing of her wings wrapping around him.

Sam didn't feel the pain, yet. Just a tightness in his chest, a difficulty in breathing. His body lay in the folded leather of Ruby's wings, her arms around him, paws grasping him, and he just tried to breath, tried to lick his dry lips and clear the haze of his eyes, tried to orient himself.

When he looked down his body, he saw the thick bolt of the arrow jutting out of him, strange and foreign and unnatural, the leather of his jerkin twisted around it. It rose and fell with his chest, like it was alive and part of him, part of his body. He lifted a hand slowly, touching the smooth wood, and clenched his teeth, hearing himself grunt in pain. He dropped his hand.

He shouldn't touch it. Shouldn't pull it out. He knew better than to pull it out. He'd tended to men with wounds like these before -- the arrow didn't kill them. The bleeding when the arrow was removed killed them. He needed to be near a hot iron, needed someone to be ready to cauterize the flesh shut when the arrow was yanked free.

Above him, Ruby crooned to him, pulling him in close like he were her baby.

"S'okay," he murmured, out of breath as he lifted a hand to her nose. Better him than her. He could survive this hit. She would have died. "It's okay. I'll be alright..."

Far away from them, the Yellow Eyed Death screamed again, a bellowing roar, and Sam choked on blood, coughing. There was nothing he could do when the demon army moved forward, those with wings taking to them, others following the charge of their fetid leader into battle. There was nothing Sam could do, cradled in Ruby's arms, an arrow poking his insides, when he felt the ground shudder with heavy footsteps, when he heard the answering cry of the Celts as they raced the field towards the oncoming challenge of the demons’ leader.

Ruby curled over, curled into a ball and hid him from the world when the two armies clashed around them.

Sam felt her warm breath against him, in and out, hearing the scuffle of bodies and the cries of anger and pain, both human and demon, hearing the sound of metal meeting scale, and Sam reached out to touch Ruby's noise. 

"Don't be scared," he murmured, wishing she could understand him. More than himself, he wanted her to live. He would regret her death more than his own, her loyalty to him what had brought her here.

He shut his eyes and rested his head against her warmth, the battle seeming so distant and faraway, even if it was all around him -- hidden as he was, by Ruby's body, the situation didn't seem _real._ It was all behind a veil, on the other side of Ruby's wings and not a part of their tiny little world: just the two of them here.

There was a shriek of talons against rock, a skin crawling sound, and then the cries of men, loud and then so suddenly silenced. Sam's fingers flexed and tightened, and he _knew_ what it was before he knew what it was.

Ruby called out in distress when the Yellow Eyed Death grabbed her, pulling her away, and Sam fell roughly against the ground with a grunt. His hands flew to the bolt in his chest, gripping it.

Above him, the Yellow Eyed monster was holding Ruby in his claws, and Sam reached out uselessly, grasping at nothing.

"No, don't--! Put her down!" he tried to yell, but it came out mangled and wheezy.

The monster looked down at him and _chuckled._

Sam had never heard a demon make a sound like that before, never thought they even could.

And he'd certainly never thought a demon would laugh in response to something Sam'd said. Like it understood him.

It threw Ruby to the side, away from them, and Sam finally noticed that a clearing had emerged in the battle around them, no one willing to come near the undead bulk of the Yellow Eyed Death. Sam tried to crawl backwards, edge himself away through the pain of the arrow in his chest, but in the next instance the demon was striding forward, shifting in one graceful movement -- body flowing inwards like water, condensing and changing almost hypnotically -- until there was a _human_ body walking towards him, and Sam froze, staring at it in horror.

It was just as dead like this, just as rotten, one cheek missing and its teeth and jaw visible on one side, its horrible yellow eyes fixed solely on Sam.

"Hello, Sam," it said, its words perfect and crisp, even though it's lips moved wrong and mangled, and Sam screamed, screamed despite the blood in his lungs and the metal buried in his chest. To his side, he could hear Ruby making a sound he'd never heard from her before -- a strange whine, a long keen, like metal against metal. He could see her flopping around like a fish, her body not in her own control anymore, and her eyes were dilating and contracting at different intervals, tongue lolling out of her mouth as she struggled against the power holding her in thrall.

The Yellow Eyed Death approached without hesitance or misstep, as if the power cost him nothing.

_"Whatever happens, you mustn't let him have you. No matter what."_

No matter what. 

Sam knew what his mother had meant, now. Knew exactly what she meant, confronted with this monster of his childhood, every single piece of fear he'd ever carried around, every jump when something moved in the dark, every shiver that ever ran up his spine.

His eyes were still wide and white, his voice still hoarsely grating out panicked grunts as he panted, when he reached for the knife on his belt, bringing it quickly to his own neck.

In the next instant, the monster was on him, hand wrapped around Sam's throat, the other hand having yanked the blade from Sam's hand and tossed it aside.

"Don't you _dare,"_ the Yellow Eyed Death murmured, staring straight into Sam, just like he had eleven years ago. "I waited years for your mother, waited for years to have her, only to have some other demon begin a bond with her. It was...regrettable, that I had to kill her. But I couldn't allow any other demon to have this."

"What--" Sam tried to breathe through the panic. "What're you talking about?"

"The bond, my little Celt." The beast pushed him back, pushed him to lay against the ground, its hand still around Sam's throat, and Sam winced as the movements shifted the arrow. "It's far more powerful than you can imagine. More powerful than anyone had ever guessed."

"I don't understand..."

"The power to live forever. The power to change your shape. The power of control and of seeking and of so much else... My riders gave me so much over the years."

"What did you...what did you _do_ to them?" Sam's hands came up and he grabbed the demon's wrist, his weak protests nothing in the face of its strength. 

The demon smiled, stretched the expression across its rotten face.

"I ate them."

The words were dark and awful and so much worse than anything Sam could have imagined.

"I took my first rider, my true rider, into my body," the demon continued, even though Sam wished he wouldn't. "Centuries ago. Millennia. I took him into me and all our power as well. I _consumed_ the bond, and then I _knew._ I understood. I could hear the words in the sounds that humans made, and suddenly they made sense. I ate him, and I ate all the others after him, just like I'm going to eat you. Take all that beautiful power you have simmering under that silly skin of yours..." The demon's hand crept down, caressed Sam's throat like he was a delicacy. "And we will live forever, you and I."

"Gods," Sam cursed, voice trembling. "Get off of me..."

"I don't need you to want it or even like it. After the first one...I no longer needed my riders to search for me. I no longer needed them to have any say in it at all. My first one was weak. Barely even a spark. But after him...I didn't have to wait for any human that would have me. I could take my pick."

"He trusted you...He _loved_ you." Sam knew, without a doubt, that it was true. He didn't have to know the rider, hundreds or thousands of years dead. To reach out, to hand half of your soul over -- it was the kind of love that ran in the blood. Thick. Undeniable.

"His love was not the commodity I desired." The demon's voice was cold, dismissive, as if he hadn't betrayed such a uniquely sacred bond, as if he hadn't taken someone who loved him to his very core and used every part of him. 

The Death's hand, skin scaly and flaking, dying, ran down from Sam's throat to caress around the shaft of the arrow and Sam tried to wriggle away, disgusted by the touch, hating the idea of this monster, this abomination, touching him. Hating even more the idea of it reaching inside of him, taking his soul, and then taking everything else. 

"It hurts, every time, you know," the Yellow Eyed Death said, smiling sweetly, its eyes mostly closed like it was remembering something fond. "Feeling us come together, becoming one, only to tear them apart, to _consume_ them. I feel the pain. Their pain. And then I feel the _power._ Feel it building in me, becoming mine, and feeling them in agony, at the same time. In agony and inside of me until they are _part_ of me, part of us, and we are whole. It hurts every time and it is exquisite."

"You're insane," Sam breathed out, eyes wide.

"Perhaps," the demon opened its eyes, Sam's light reflected there, glowing brightly, and the demon stared into it with hunger, smiling unctuously. "But I always win, so I don't mind so much in the end." It crouched down, leaning over Sam. "You and me...we're gonna be somethin' else, kiddo. Your mom was a pretty little bauble, but you...you're like a precious _gem._ Like the holy light that started the world. Gonna put you in the _center_ of my crown. With your power inside of me, no one will ever be able to stop me."

"Is that why you killed her?" he tried to breath around the pain, tried to keep the demon talking. Everything it said was vile and wrong and Sam didn't want to hear it, but anything was better than taking the bond. He'd listen to the demon blather on for years if it meant that he could avoid that.

"I killed her because she had begun to bond with that female," the Death sneered, dead, broken lips curling back. "Once it's started, there's no stopping it. No taking it back. I couldn't bond with her. She was useless. So I got rid of her."

Sam choked, breath coming harder for more than just the arrow now. His mother, who he'd loved, who his brother had loved, his father had loved; his mother, who'd been a person who deserved to live _regardless_ of if anyone loved her, who'd had hopes and dreams and regrets, who hadn't been perfect but, instead, perfectly human, had been killed only because she was of no use. Because if the Death had no use for her, then there had been no point in letting her live.

Despite how much pain he was in, Sam tried to throw a punch, anger giving him a surge of energy, but the Death caught it easily, Sam's smaller hand curled in its fetid one, and Sam felt his knuckles brush against dry, cracked bone through the thin veil of soft, rotten flesh. He tried to struggle free but the demon held on, sunk the tips of its skeletal fingers into Sam's flesh.

Sam cried out, head jerking backwards in pain, back arching.

"Now now now...None of that." It leered over him, scooting closer. "You have no idea... None at all. I've lived for longer than your fragile, stupid mind is even capable of conceiving. Seen more humans than are even alive on this Earth today...And you are the brightest light I have ever looked upon. Brighter by far than even all the stars in the sky. Your power, your being, will give me eternity. Will give me a body that no weapon, no matter how finely forged, can kill. You wander around, letting that light shine everywhere, like it’s nothing. You're just asking for someone to take it."

"Fuck," Sam started, taking a page from Dean's book. "You."

He spat in the demon's face, and it just stared at him for a moment. Sam looked back in outright defiance.

Then the demon's hand darted out, grabbing the shaft of the arrow, and Sam's breath hitched just before the demon yanked it out in one brutal motion, and Sam _screamed,_ screamed in pure agony as the arrow head was jerked out of him. He could hear Ruby calling out to him, desperate to get to him, but she couldn't.

The pain was like nothing else, like nothing Sam had ever felt before. He always used to listen to Bobby talking about how he lost a hand, used to laugh when Bobby made jokes about it, and oh gods, there was nothing funny about it at all. He had no idea how the other man could ever laugh about it, could ever laugh about anything ever again, knowing pain like this. He felt like the memory was being written in hard, indelible ink onto his soul, unforgettable, everything in him on fire. He could feel the blood gushing out from the wound and that was it. That was it. 

There was no avoiding it now. Without the arrow to hold it in, Sam was going to bleed out, pump all his blood out into the dirt. He was dead. His body just didn't know it yet.

The demon swooped in, moaning as it licked the blood from Sam's chest, tongue pressing flat over the wound as he licked up pulse after pulse, grinning and laughing as it drank Sam down -- the tease before the main course, when the demon would bond with him without Sam's permission, and consume his body like Sam was one of the sheep the demons were so fond of snacking on.

It was going to consume him, body and soul, and then Sam would be the fire that fueled the monster for the next however many years or decades or centuries it took before he burned out and the demon went after someone new. Unless Sam never burned out. Unless the power the demon wanted from him was truly enough to grant him immortality and so much more.

His mother had been right. Sam was dying from a damned hole in his chest -- he didn't have to bother with killing himself -- but his mother had been right. He couldn't let it happen, couldn't let it _keep_ happening. He and Ruby had come here willing to die. They had come here to end this, and if they died in the process, at least they would have been making the future better. At least they would have given their lives for something good.

Sam wanted to give his life for something good.

He would die happy if he could do something like this -- end something like this.

A monster like this. 

The world was growing fuzzy and cold, like the chill on an early winter's night, the lights of the houses glowing eerily in the early darkness, light reflecting off of the snow. The demon was going to use whatever strength Sam had left in him to hurt Sam's family. The demon was going to use it to keep Ruby and her people enslaved, enthralled and under its control, and leave everything just as bad as it ever was, and maybe forever. 

Sam couldn't stand the thought.

He reached out, groping around to his side as the Yellow Eyed Death licked into the wound in Sam's chest, tongue pushing into flesh and lapping at blood, painful and disgusting. Sam mustered his last bit of life, as much as he could find in him, breath shuddering through the pain, his lung collapsing under the force of the air entering his chest, his body dying. His fingers tripped over something thin and cylindrical, and he grasped it tightly.

With every inch of strength he could summon, every last little piece of will and thought and determination he had left, he swung his arm up and jammed the head of the arrow, the arrow that had been in his chest, the arrow that had killed him, into the demon's neck.

The monster reared back with an inhuman cry, clutching and scratching at the bolt, but it did no good. Sam could see how the wound was sizzling, glowing, every vein in the demon's body pulsing with that glow. The sounds of battle had faded out, and Sam thought he was finally fading out too, but he wasn't. 

The fighting was slowing, then stopping. 

Sam gasped for air, trying to hold on, to see this through, and he cast his wearied eyes around. All around them, the demon horde were slowing their attacks, stepping back, their eyes, bleeding yellow and beginning to clear, turning to the center of the battlefield, to Sam and his murderer. Sam and his victim.

The demons' slave master was dying. Perhaps they could feel him burning out, feel their freedom begin to edge in for the first time in who knew how long. They were stopping, turning to watch as light began to build up in the monster’s body, and the Celts were staring too, every weapon slowly lowering, every head slowly turning, every eye fixing on the spectacle at the center of the battleground.

The demon was staring at Sam in disbelief, like the idea that it might actually die had never occurred to it, and Sam supposed that it never had. 

Sam grit his teeth, breathing in unsteadily as he glared up at it, unwilling to give it anything, any little victory.

"That's..." he started and took a deeper breath, even if it made his lungs ache and twinge, like a knife cutting raggedly through them again and again. "That's for our mom...you _son of a bitch."_

And the demon stared at him before it threw his head back, light pouring out of him, and Sam thought he could see the monster's human victims flooding out, human souls that had been eaten and trapped for who knew how long, struggling for freedom and tearing the demon apart in the process.

Sam didn't have the energy to wonder though. His body was full of pain and wearied, every inch of him fighting for life and losing, the fantastic explosion of power in front of him a distant thing, removed from his ever shrinking world. It was dark around the edges, and all Sam needed to know was that he'd won. That he'd avenged his mother. That he'd won Ruby her freedom and the freedom of her people.

He tried to look around, tried to find some friendly face, some last bit of love so that he wouldn’t have to die alone. So that he knew he wasn’t alone.

But the world was fading out Sam let his head fall back against the earth and shut his eyes. He knew, at least, one thing.

He did it.

He did it.

He did it.

\-----

Sam didn't expect to wake up again, but when he did, he knew why.

It was Dean. 

Dean was shaking him, yelling for him.

The only person who could have called Sam back, even for just a moment.

"Sam!" His voice sounded wrecked, completely raw. Sam felt the heart he didn't know was still beating clench in sympathy, unused to his big, strong, older brother sounding so vulnerable. "Sammy, please! Please, Sammy, open your eyes."

And Sam did. Because he always tried to listen to his brother.

"Oh gods, oh thank the gods..." Dean was looking down at him, smiling, but it was tremulous. Overhead, the sky was still grey, still overcast. They were still on the battlefield. Sam couldn't feel the pain anymore. He couldn’t feel much of anything.

"It's okay," Dean said. "C'mon, let me look at you." Dean's hands were moving from Sam's shoulders to his chest, pressing against the wound, trying to stop the now sluggish spill of blood. The Yellow Eyed Death was gone, to where, Sam didn't know or care. The demon just had to be gone. Sam was okay with dying. All that mattered was that the demon was gone and that Sam had ended it. He didn't have the breath to speak anymore, or to ask Dean.

"It's not even that bad," Dean continued, oblivious, voice determined and dismissive no matter how much it shook. "It's not even that bad, alright? Sammy..." He looked up, looked at Sam's face, then grabbed it, making Sam focus on him again. "Sam! Hey, listen to me, we're going to patch you up, okay... You'll be as good as new... I'm going to take care of you. I'm going to take care of you. I got you. It's my job, right? Watch out for my pain-in-the-ass little brother?" Dean swallowed hard then after a forced laugh, and Sam wanted to tell Dean that he loved him, that he'd always loved him, even when he was tiny and didn't know what love was, but he wasn't breathing anymore, and the weak colors of the world were bleeding together. Bleeding out. Dean sucked in a breath.

"No. No no no no... _Sam!"_

Dean's scream reached him, just barely, and the feel of Dean's hands on his face.

Then something blocked the sun making the world seem even more dim and distant than it already was. He couldn't see much anymore, but he saw something dark coming for him. 

Something dark and scaly with two huge blood red eyes.

He felt something, something faint like tingling: a warmth, a light, and it grew from something tiny, from a spark, into something bigger, something like a wildfire tearing through him, consuming him like the Yellow Eyed Death wanted to but different. Something less like taking and more like giving.

Sam felt it fill him up, felt himself reach out and answer, even though he couldn't move a finger, and then the world went white and vanished.

Everything went blissfully silent and Sam was aware no more.

\-----

Sam never saw his mother again after the day she died.

He would have liked to think, in those moments hovering between life and death, that he would get to see her, meet her once more and get to tell her about everything that had happened. That he would get to see her smile when she heard that the Yellow Eyed Death was dead and gone, ended by Sam's hand, and that the demonkind were free. That, perhaps, she would embrace him one last time -- a time when he would know just how precious that was and appreciate it in a way he hadn't been able to when he was four and his mother's hugs were just a given.

That he would know, this time, that it was the last.

But Sam didn't see his mother or anything else in that in-between land.

He just woke up on his bed, in his room, in the house of his family, with Ruby curled up by the small fireplace and Dean sitting on a chair next to his bed, with no recollection of anything that had happened since he last closed his eyes. He stared at the ceiling, all the pieces of the world around him wrong and incorrect.

Starting with the fact that he was alive.

"Dean?" He decided to open with talking. Talking seemed like a good way to test whether or not he was really alive.

"Shit!" Dean cursed, almost falling out of the chair as he tipped forward, waking from a half-doze. His eyes snapped to Sam's face, and he looked bad -- stubble and bags under his eyes, but he reached out for Sam's hand, grasping it between his two. "Sam, fuck."

"What?" Sam's brow creased, confused.

"No, I mean-- Gods, I'm glad you're awake." Dean smiled then moved off of the chair, kneeling besides Sam's bed. Ruby had raised her head, her forelegs folded delicately in front of her, one wearing bandaging wrapped around it. Her long ears perked up behind her rear horns, listening to them.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"Why is Ruby in my room?"

"She wouldn't leave you," Dean replied, a bare bones smile on his lips. "Dad wasn't happy but...after what happened..."

"What happened..." Sam echoed, swallowing dryly. He moved his free hand up to his chest, moving over some bandages there. It didn't feel like he'd almost died. "What _did_ happen? How did I...?"

"I dunno, Sammy." Dean's voice was ragged, a rough edge coming to it as he spoke. "You were-- Back on that field, I was trying to hold you together, but-- Shit." 

Dean pulled his hands away, leaning back on his calves as he lifted one hand to rub at his face.

"You were so fucking pale, man. You don't even know. You were looking at me, but it was like you were already gone or something, and... Fuck. I didn't know what to do. Dad... After he fired that shot, after he saw you take it..." Dean shook his head. "He didn't even charge in when the fighting started. He was _wrecked,_ Sammy. When I got to you, you'd killed that bastard, and I was so proud, so fucking proud of you-- But then I saw-- Gods. You were--" He shook his head.

"Dean?" Sam asked, voice scratchy.

"I can't even-- You don't know. You don't know what it was like looking down at you and thinking this was it. That this was all I was gonna get of you -- fifteen years and then the rest of my life with you buried in the ground. I'da done anything, _anything--_ " He looked up, looked at Sam, and Sam couldn't be certain, couldn't help but doubt it, but Dean's eyes seemed so wet and endless, like the seasick ocean in spring. "But it wasn't me. It was Ruby. She came over to you and she...put her head against you, and there was this light... It was just like Mom used to talk about. I didn't figure it out then, not going crazy like I was, but... I think she gave you half of her life."

Sam blinked and tried to process that.

Couldn't.

He pushed himself to sit up stiffly despite Dean's hurried and hushed protests, his rough hands flying to try and ease Sam back down, all while trying to avoid touching him or pushing him. Sam just looked across the room at Ruby.

He looked at her, looked at her big red eyes, and he _felt_ her. When she tipped her head to the side, curious and questioning, that curiosity sparked in Sam's head, in his chest. He could _feel_ what she felt. And when he was amazed, when he was blown away by that, she trilled in response, her ears flicking down in an amiable manner, and he realized she could feel him just as much.

Bonded.

They were bonded, just like Sam's mother always said that demons and humans could be.

"Do you think... I mean, Mom said that demons lived for centuries. Does that mean... I'm going to live for hundreds of years?" He glanced over at his brother, looking for answers. Dean just shook his head slowly.

"Dunno, Sammy... Even Mom said that this hadn't happened for a real long time. S'not like we have a lot of info on them. The demonriders, I mean." Dean paused, then sat down on the edge of Sam's bed, looking over at Ruby. "...I believed her. When we were kids. Mom. She told all those stories... But after she died, I was so sure that it was a load of bull. That there were demonriders? That there was a whole...world built around them? It was ridiculous. And believing in it...that's what got Mom killed. I never thought I'd think about the idea again, not as anything other than a stupid kids' story."

He shifted then, turning his head to look at Sam.

"But it's real. You're really...a demonrider. You really bonded with a demon. It's real. And no one knows how it works or what happens now. Whatever it was like for those people? The ones Mom used to talk about? We're never gonna know. We're just gonna have to find out, watching you and Ruby."

Sam breathed in, feeling the air cool and real in his chest. He glanced down at himself, carefully pulling the bandages away to peer at his wound -- it looked weeks old, mostly closed and almost healed, and Sam didn't know how long he'd been in bed, how long he'd been asleep, but he didn't think it was that long. 

Ruby had bonded with him. On the verge of death, he'd been given half the lifespan of a demon -- and Ruby gave that up. To live only half her potential lifespan, but to do so with him, together. Sam swallowed hard. She'd given him her life, and saved him. And he could feel the bond, as real and living as another creature in his head, and there was no animosity there. No blame, or remorse, or resentment. Someone had given half of their life away for him, and had done so without regret.

He'd never thought that anyone would ever find him that important.

And now he and Ruby were the first bonded pair in who knew how many generations -- not the first human and demon ever to bond, but they might as well have been. Whatever guides or rules or practices had been involved with those ancient demonriders, they'd all been lost. Sam and Ruby would have to just make it up as they went along, just like Dean said.

And if any other pairs bonded, they would follow whatever it was that Sam and Ruby had made up.

The idea was sort of terrifying.

"What about--" There were so many questions slinging around Sam's mind, all of them vying for attention. He wanted to ask them all at once, but there were, unavoidably, some that took precedence. He turned to look at his brother. "What about Dad? I mean...he let Ruby come back here?"

"'Let' would be an interesting way of putting it..." Dean smirked a little, then it quickly faded. "He wasn't--...Like I said, after he shot you... You gotta know, Sammy, he never meant for that to happen. When you jumped in front of that arrow, he just stood there, like he didn't even know what to do anymore." Dean shook his head. "By the time he got down to us, once the fighting had stopped, Ruby had already bonded with you. He carried you back to the boats, tried to make her go away, but she wouldn't leave. Flew alongside the boat the whole way back, circling around whenever we got too slow."

"Dad wouldn't let her _land?"_ Sam couldn't help but feel indignant then. After all, that arrow hadn't appeared out of nowhere -- his dad had tried to _kill_ Ruby. And, if anything, his affection for the demon had doubled since the last time he was conscious. The idea of anyone harming his bonded demon made a hard knot of tension lodge in his chest.

"Yeah, but he also didn't let anyone _shoot_ at her," Dean defended, as if that somehow made up for it. He lifted a hand, trying to calm Sam, placate him. "Hey, just--... I get where you're coming from. She's...not so bad, for a demon. But you gotta understand Sammy, most of us have been trained for years to hate 'em, to kill 'em. We're just now getting the idea that they might not be as bad as we thought, but it's gonna take some time for that to sink in. Ruby was determined not to leave you, and Dad eventually let her come in the house. He even told the other hunters not to harm her. You gotta give this thing time. People'll come around, but it's not gonna be fast."

Sam screwed his face up like he'd bitten into an unripened fruit, but didn't respond. As much as he wanted to demand that people understand that Ruby meant them no harm, that the demons had been controlled and used like props for years, that his people immediately and automatically understand that...he realized it wasn't fair. It wasn't possible to just turn off years of fighting against the same enemy, against something that had become a symbol of hatred and ire amongst his people, and forget all that had happened. Even though the demons had been controlled, there were Celts in the ground, friends and family and loved ones, who'd never come back. And it was hard to say if those who'd lost people would ever be able to see anything other than a monster when they looked at a demon.

Then again, Sam had lost someone. The first 'someone'. 

And he'd watched her get torn apart.

Ruby crooned and got up, feeling Sam's old pain in the bond. Her big body began to bump into furniture, knocking things over as she tried to crawl up over the end of the bed and onto it with him.

"Hey, hey!" Dean got up, waving like that was going to make a difference. "You-- What--"

Ruby settled down, half on the bed and half off, and put her head in Sam's lap. Sam chuckled, lowering a hand to pet her.

"...crap, you have an annoying demon," Dean muttered, lowering himself to sit again once it became apparent that Ruby was only going to _half_ destroy the room in her attempts to cuddle.

"She can feel when I'm upset, now," Sam replied, trying to explain.

"She can--...isn't that kind of...creepy?" Dean asked, peering down at Ruby's big head warily, like she might just decide to jump up and invade his mind too.

"It's a little weird but it's not...bad." Sam shrugged a little, shifting his hand to push under one of the hard plates covering her face, fingers wriggling under to scratch her skin, hearing her thrum contentedly at the sensation. "She's just concerned." 

"Just concerned..." Dean huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "You got a _demon_ in your head and we're talking about that like it's a normal thing."

"If what Mom said was true, then it is normal. Us living like we have, fighting the demons, hurting them, that's the abnormal stuff."

"I guess... Just can't imagine having a demon in my head. Can't imagine myself being okay with it."

"Maybe you just haven't met the right demon," Sam replied with a smirk, eyes slanting to the side as he looked at Dean, but his smirk faded when their eyes met, the two of them sitting close, and Dean's gaze fixed firmly on Sam's face. Sam stared for a long moment -- longer than was comfortable, longer than was necessary or brotherly or anything like that. He swallowed dryly, then finally managed to tear his eyes away, looking back down at Ruby, who had little plumes of smoke rising contentedly from her nostrils.

"Sam--" Dean started, then cleared his throat.

"Can we not?" Sam's voice was somewhat tighter, lower, really hoping to avoid this.

"What happened before the battle, um... In the tent--"

"Dean," Sam winced, shutting his eyes with a grimace. "Look, I only did that cause I thought I was going to die, okay? The whole point was that I wouldn't have to deal any consequences."

"Yeah, well," Dean grumbled. "That's great for you..."

Then a large, rough hand was grabbing Sam's chin, turning his head to face Dean, and Sam's eyes opened in automatic surprise at the unexpected contact -- the touch intimate enough to make something in his gut twist and jump. He found his brother close, closer than he expected, though no closer than he remembered, and Dean's eyes were hard and serious, as serious as Sam had ever seen him when his hand was wrapped around his halberd and his blade was looking for blood.

Sam couldn't turn his head away but he could shutter his eyes, glance away like he could run.

"Sam..." 

Dean didn't let go of Sam's chin but his other hand came up, touching the side of Sam's face, brushing back some of his hair, and Sam jumped at the contact, seeing the shadow of Dean's hand and almost expecting a blow. It was what he would expect of any brother who'd had their sibling kiss him unexpectedly. Dean took in a breath.

"That what you think of me...?" His words were mumbled, and Sam wasn't sure if Dean had intended to speak them aloud. He raised his voice to speak clearer. "Sam… Shit-- Have I really been that out of it, you’d think I'd hit you?"

"No better than I deserve," Sam shrugged, eyes still to the side.

"Then what do I deserve?"

That got Sam's attention.

"What do you mean?" he asked, finally looking at his brother.

"I mean, I'm the older one. I'm the big brother. I'm the one that's always supposed to know better, and I should. And yet I never knew you--" 

"You don't owe me anything," Sam cut in when Dean's words had cut off, a little afraid that Dean would do something for Sam's sake -- something that neither of them could take back.

"I _definitely_ owe you something, but not this." Dean shook his head. "I haven't...exactly been there for you, for awhile now. I haven't exactly been the best big brother." He lowered his hand from Sam's chin, but the other hand only pushed closer, fingers winding into Sam's hair, pads running over Sam's scalp. "And I owe you for some of the shit I said. Calling you a traitor..."

"Dean..."

"But this is-- Gods, I had no idea you felt this way too."

"Of course you had no idea, I didn't _want_ you to have any idea-- Wait. Too?" Sam stopped suddenly, his brain catching up with his mouth, something that it didn't often do fast enough.

"Thought I was going nuts, watching you grow up. I wanted to keep you safe, 'specially with the way you were with demons. We shouldn't have pushed you, but Dad wanted -- and I wanted -- you to be safe. To be able to fight them. Some days though, I just wanted to pull you back here. Keep you somewhere safe, somewhere where no one could get you. Take you from me."

"Like your own little wife, waiting for you to come home from the hunt?" Sam couldn't help but joke, wan smile on his lips, and Dean returned it with a huff. 

Then Dean leaned in slightly, and Sam stopped breathing.

"So fuckin' wrong, Sammy. The way I thought about you..." Dean's fingers caressed Sam's hair, rubbed it between his thumb and knuckle of his index finger. "Thought if I toughened you up, if I treated you like shit, it'd get better."

"Did it?" Sam barely managed to ask, to push out on captive air.

"No." Dean's reply was swift and firm, and then Sam felt his brother's lips on his own, pressed to his, covering him. One hand came up automatically, pressing to Dean's chest, and Sam shut his eyes. Dean's other hand returned, this time to the opposite side of his face, so that Sam's head was held between his brother's palms, cradled, and Sam reached out blindly, grasping for something, anything to hold on to, to steady himself. His fingers encountered Dean's shirt and he latched on, hand clenching tightly.

The kiss didn’t last long, but longer than their first one, longer than when Sam had crammed his mouth against Dean's in a desperate goodbye.

This time, Dean's lips weren't slack and shocked beneath his own. Rather, they were moving, shifting softly, like Sam had always seen when Dean held maids in his arms, pulled them close and kissed them sensually. Sam made a quiet noise, not having to imagine himself in the place of those girls, not anymore, because here he was. Held and kissed by his brother, like no man should ever be, and in ecstasy over it.

When Dean pulled back, Sam opened his eyes like he was coming out of a deep sleep, staring at his brother and just trying to understand what had just happened.

"Dean..." he mumbled, like his lips were still confused from the kiss, still trying to seek out more.

"Wish I could say I was a stronger man," Dean replied, voice low and a little rough. "Wish I could say I could turn you down and be a better brother than this. But gods, Sammy... If you want me, if you want this, if you--... I would. If you want this, I would."

"I want this," Sam responded as fast as he could, no doubt there at all. He felt like he'd always been chasing after his big brother. Always just trying to keep up and not get left behind.

"Dunno what it is," Dean shook his head. "Ever since you were a kid, ever since Mom put you in my arms as a baby, s'like I just knew my job was looking after you."

"Then where'd you _go?"_ Sam found himself asking, his voice sounding so plainly needy, and those weren't the words he'd expected to come out of him. He'd been intending to tell Dean that he didn't need looking after, that he was almost grown and could take care of himself, because he _could._ But he didn't say that, because even though it was true and Sam had been more than capable of managing his own life for some time now, that didn't mean he still didn't want his stupid, overprotective big brother there looking over him, looking out for him. That he didn't want Dean's attention back on him like it had been once, a long time ago.

"I'm sorry," Dean replied, and the pain in his voice proved he meant it. "After Mom, I was so _angry_ and I didn't want that to get to you. I didn't want you to get...tainted by it. And then this thing, this... _whatever._ I didn't want to be that kind of brother. I didn't want to hurt you."

"You did hurt me, you idiot," Sam said, and he saw Dean wince, but he pulled his brother closer before he could move away. "I just wanted my brother."

"I'm here now." Dean's arms came up around him, and Sam held him in return, ignoring the curious poking of Ruby in his head as he buried his face in his brother's shoulder. 

It was what Sam had been looking for, for years now -- ever since Dean grew up and grew away from him, became someone that Sam didn't fully recognize. 

He tucked himself into Dean's embrace and held on, determined, this time, not to let Dean go.

The position, half twisted around and sitting on the edge of Sam's bed, must have been uncomfortable for Dean, but he didn't let go, didn't shift, not until Sam gathered himself enough to pull back, until Sam looked up and their eyes met again. Sam didn't know what to say, didn't have anything else to say after that, because he'd never expected to actually be here -- alive, for starters, but also having his brother telling him that he could have this, indulge in the twisted affection he'd carried around with him for so long.

Of course, when he put those two things together, he couldn't help but wonder if he really _had_ passed on, except he didn't think they made a glorious rest for boys who fell in love with their brothers.

He ducked his gaze in a moment of shyness but Dean leaned in, resting their foreheads together.

"...don't scare me like that again," he heard his brother murmur.

"Scare you?" Sam didn't mean to sound so confused and out of it. He just did.

"Almost lost you."

Sam swallowed hard, finding it hard not to be moved by the naked emotion in Dean's voice -- something Sam wasn't used to. 

He was opening his mouth to respond, to probably say something ridiculously sappy, when there was a knock on the door and Dean slowly withdrew, casting his eyes over to it. Ruby also raised her head, blinking curiously.

"Dean? How is he? Thought I heard voices." 

It was their father.

Dean looked to Sam, his query wordless, and Sam just nodded once. Dean turned back to the door.

"Yeah, come in. He's up."

There was a click as the metal in the latch shifted, and the door swung open with an uneven creak, the same sound Sam had been hearing ever since his childhood, and John walked carefully into the room. His eyes went to Ruby first, an instinctive move of a hunter looking to his prey, but if Ruby knew he was dangerous, she didn't show it, one ear flicked up in absent interest until it became apparent that nothing else was happening, and she just put her head back down in Sam's lap.

"...how you feeling, son?" John asked, his attention shifting back to Sam. Sam licked his lips, hands playing with the edge of the sheets absently.

"Alright. How...how long have I been out?"

"Two days. After you--... We loaded you up on the boats and came back here. Your...friend wouldn't leave your side."

Sam smiled a little, looking down at Ruby, rubbing between her horns as she peered up at him.

"Thanks," Sam replied, the conversation stilted and awkward, but Sam willing to try, at least. "For not hurting her. For bringing her back."

"Yeah," John replied with half a shrug. Then silence descended and hung in the room, tense and uneasy. Sam wanted to break it, to say something, the _right_ something, but he had no idea what that was. He'd never known how to talk with his father, not after his mother's death, but it had become worse of late -- and worst of all after their fight. Sam wasn't sure he was ready to give in, but he was also sure that he didn't want to fight anymore.

He was tired of it.

He was still certain, though, that he would have to be the one to make the first concession, that he would have to be the one to give in, if he wanted this to go anywhere. Which was why he was surprised to hear John speak next.

"I'm sorry. About..." The great Celtic hunter crossed his arms uneasily over his chest. "I never meant to hit you. I never wanted to hurt you. If you'd died, I'd--..." He shook his head.

"I know you didn't mean to," Sam replied, knowing that much. "You were aiming for Ruby, I jumped in front."

His father didn't say anything, clearly indicating that he was aware of this fact.

"What you should be sorry for is trying to shoot my _friend,"_ Sam continued, aware that he was pushing his luck. "You have to know now, demons aren't evil. They're not bad. I know a lot of awful things have happened, but it's not their fault. They were being controlled by the Yellow Eyed Death, just like Mom always said, and--"

"Sam," John's voice cut through, quick and stern, and like clockwork Sam felt his jaw snap shut, and residual anger that that still worked. That he was still enough of a kid to shut up when his dad told him to. 

"A lot of things have...changed," John continued, after a beat. "I recognize that. But it's going to take people time. Maybe a lot of time. Right now, I'm just... I'm glad you're alright. I'm glad you're okay, son."

Sam glanced at Dean, then back at his father. It wasn't much, not for any other family -- a man standing there and just saying he was happy his son wasn't dead. For any other family, it would be the least of things.

But for Sam, who'd been told not to come back, not to come home, who'd been called a traitor, who'd wondered, when he'd lay dying on some barren stretch of worthless land, if anyone would miss or mourn him, it meant the world. He swallowed hard, trying to hold back from getting more emotional than he knew he should in front of his father.

"...and Ruby?" he pushed, needing to secure her safety. He'd almost died to save her before -- now, with the bond between them, it would be so much worse. "You won't hurt her, right?"

John paused, then nodded.

"And you won't make her leave? Don't make her leave. If she goes, wherever she goes, that's where I'm gonna be. I can't--"

"I won't make her leave. And I've already told the others that no harm's to come to her. And we can...talk about all the other things too. Talk about the other demons. Later. When you're rested. When you're okay. I just--" John took a deep breath. "We almost lost you, Sammy. And all those things I said to you... I couldn't have lived with myself, if those were the last words you heard from me. From your own father. I don't want to lose any more of my family."

For a moment, Sam had trouble breathing.

Had trouble breathing, because his father was there, looking at him and calling him family. Calling him son with no hint of shame in his eyes.

Because Ruby was there with him, in his head and his gut and a part of him, with him in his home, no running away required.

Because Dean was there, sitting beside him, a hand on Sam's knee -- and when did that get there? Sam blinked and looked down at the warm weight, not remembering when Dean had moved, when they'd made contact, Dean's palm over the sheets covering Sam, but still felt. 

He glanced at his brother, and Dean smiled. Sam reached out, putting his hand over his brother's, feeling skin against his skin and the notion of family, something that he'd thought he'd lost eleven years ago, under his hand and all around him.

This, of all places, was home.


	3. Epilogue

"Yeah, okay... Okay. Good girl. C'mon. Yes. Okay, come here. Come here...Yes!" Dean whooped and held up both hands in victory, standing at the top of the path that lead from the seawall, a massively huge demon standing awkwardly in front of him, looking entirely uncertain of her circumstances.

Sam was leaning back against Ruby's chest, the two of them watching Dean and his demon and their interaction.

"Good job," Sam said with a smirk, but no congratulation in his voice. "You managed to get her off of the beach. Now what?"

"Fuck you," Dean responded without heat. "I'm working on 'now what'... You're supposed to be the expert here, Mr. Demonrider."

Sam flushed a little bit, the title something new, even if the word had been bounced around in their family's home over the last few months. It was only recently that the other villagers had taken up calling him 'Demonrider' instead of Sam, something that Dean had been teasing him almost endlessly about, since it never failed to make the tips of Sam's ears go red.

Dean had already turned back to the other demon, reaching out to press his hand to her leathery skin, and Sam couldn't help but smile at the sight, watching the silhouettes of the two figures against the edge of the cliff, cut into relief by the glow of the sinking sun.

Sitting there, the air pleasant if cool, his brother and his bonded demon with him, Sam thought that things were actually kind of alright, these days.

It was six months since the Yellow Eyed Death had been slain and Mary Winchester avenged, and there hadn't been a single demon attack on Lawrence since. It was the longest period of peace since Sam had been four, and he couldn't lie: he'd been luxuriating in it. Even with the healing that Ruby's bond had provided him, it had taken him a couple of weeks to get back up to full strength. Given that he'd had a hole in his chest and almost no blood, he found two weeks to be a very reasonable down time. During his recovery, he'd lived with his two shadows -- both Ruby and Dean worrying over him almost constantly, to the point where he'd actually physically tripped over Ruby and almost broken his leg.

After that, he'd told both of them to give him some breathing room.

As for Lawrence itself, they'd settled rather well into peace -- the ability to build and grow instead of just survive from day to day. Things weren't perfect, of course -- they never were -- but they were, undoubtedly, better. The end season crops were being cultivated, no hellfire to dissolve and burn them, and not a single sheep had been taken, the shepherds able to take their flocks further afield without fearing attack. 

Not that the demon population had lessened. Quite the opposite: since the Yellow Eyed Death's end, the demons had returned to their ancestral home, to the cliffs and the forest and the moors. It was normal, these days, to see them flying overhead, moving from the inland to the seas and back, hunting for their meals in the choppy waters below. And, of course, it was normal to see Sam and Ruby flying too, further and farther than Sam had ever thought he'd go.

The old hunters still winced and jumped when the huge animals soared over the village, hands long trained automatically reaching for weapons that were no longer kept sharp and oiled. But no one wanted to start the war again. No one wanted to start that violence over, and there was a general belief that if anyone harmed a demon, it would bring the creatures back down on them, so people stayed their instincts. It helped that Ruby was an everyday feature now, and while there were still those that sneered at her presence, most of the villagers found her hard not to like. It was difficult to hate a creature you lived with, day in and day out, and Sam was glad for that. 

He loved his people, his home. He wanted them to love Ruby as much as he did.

And it helped he wasn't alone anymore now -- Ava, a childhood friend of his, had bonded with a small feathered demon, the second demon bonded in Lawrence. Meg, as Ava called her, though, was too small to ride -- she was an adult demon, but only as big as the town dogs. Ava found it just as well. She was a seamstress and had little desire to throw herself off the cliffsides, as she put it.

Of course, once there were _two_ demon bonded, Dean had gotten it into his head that _he_ should have a demon too. He'd been insistent that if Sam was living for centuries then Dean was as well, because there was no way that Sam ever got to be the older brother.

Which had led them to standing in a field for two days in a row while Dean yelled at the sky, trying to get a demon to come down and 'get with the bonding.' It had then led to them crawling through the woods in search of demon dens, Ruby complaining in Sam's head all the while, gingerly picking around the thorn thickets and bramble vines.

Sam had stuck it all out somewhere between amused and irritated, until Dean had finally thrown up his hands and given in. And Sam had thought Dean was over it until two days ago, when his brother had come home covered in sand saying he'd found a demon down on the beach.

Not all the demonkind were winged, and while most had returned to the mainland, there were still some who lived out at the Hell Gate -- something that Sam had been harping on John about. He was pretty sure that two more good, long arguments and his father would cave and let them take the boats out to begin bringing the demons back.

In the meantime, it seemed that one large female had taken matters into her own hands(or paws) and decided to just swim the few miles of ocean between the island and Lawrence. Her paws were webbed, and fin ridges ran down her unbelievably long tail, so Sam could see she was well built for it. Even so, she'd been exhausted, and Dean had apparently spent the day feeding her fish.

Now he'd managed to get her up from the beach, though she was looking a bit leery at the whole thing, glancing nervously over at the village.

She was a big, long thing -- like a giant sea serpent, skinny legs almost twice as tall as a horse's, with a curving neck and a tail even longer than her body. She had no wings, and her skin was leathery instead of scaled, as dark as Ruby's on top, but silvery on the bottom, like a fish.

"You won't be able to come flying with us, you know," Sam mentioned, a touch of disappointment in his voice. He loved to fly, but the idea of flying alongside Dean, the two of them and their demons in concert -- okay, it was a bit needlessly romantic, and he couldn't imagine Dean being so mushy, but it sounded nice. He'd taken Dean up on Ruby's back with him once, but it hadn't been the same.

Mostly because Dean kept screaming _‘get me down get me down!’_

"Like I'd want to," Dean snorted. "I hate flying. Me'n Imp are meant for the ground, aren't we girl? Flying is for idiots and losers."

"Imp?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, it's her name," Dean replied, grinning like a small child. "She's an imp. You know, a small, cute little demon."

"Dean, she's the size of our house."

"Don't say mean things about my demon, Sam." Dean's voice was haughty as he lifted his hands, taking Imp's slender nose in them. Sam just sighed and rolled his eyes. It just figured Dean would be like this. 

Sam pushed himself to his feet, brushing leaves and dirt off of his riding pants, feeling Ruby rising behind him, shaking her big body. She now had a simple leather harness on, something for Sam to hold on to when he was on demonback, with straps to hold him on when Ruby would dive. It had been something he'd had one of the tanners make for him from a deer that he and Ruby had hunted down.

"You off?" Dean asked, still absently petting Imp, who was looking a little less nervous about being up off of the beach.

"Yeah. Figure we can do a sweep before the sun sets, then maybe catch something for dinner tonight." Hunting was always best at dusk or dawn -- the times when things took the most risks outside of their dens. Though tonight Sam was thinking fish.

"Well, be careful," Dean said sternly, as he always did, as if there was any danger out there to a demon and her rider. Sam just chuckled and shook his head, walking over.

"We'll be fine, like we always are." He glanced over to the village, making sure no one could see, and leaned in to press his lips briefly to Dean's. His brother returned the peck, and did his own cursory glance afterwards, nodding once he saw the coast was clear.

"Right, well..." Dean shrugged, rocking back on his feet. "Guess I'll see you tonight. I expect something fresh and delicious, you know. Bet Dad does too. You're spoiling us."

"Don't I know it," Sam returned, walking over to where Ruby was waiting at the cliff's edge. He reached up, grasping the harness and swinging himself into it, legs split over her back. He dug his feet into the appropriate notches and hooked the straps to his riding pants. He had no need of reins or bridle -- he and Ruby flew as one creature, one mind. Him and his demon.

Ruby backed up a little, puffing out her wings as her paws danced eagerly over the ground.

"We gonna see Imp at home then?" Sam asked, looking over at his brother with a smile.

"Eh, I'll see what I can do with her."

"Dad'll _love_ having another demon in the house."

"Dude, she won't _fit_ in the house."

"Maybe we'll have to think about building our own place, then," Sam finished, and smirked when he saw Dean's eyes widen comically. A second later, Ruby launched herself off of the cliff and into the air, her wings snapping open to catch the updraft coming off the ocean and up the rock face.

"Hey!" Dean shouted indignantly, but it was too late to object now.

Sam laughed as he and Ruby took to the skies, wings spread and heartbeats in tandem.

\-----

_My name is Sam and I live by the sea, on the edge of a cliff that overlooks the end of the world._

_The air here is always cold, even in the summer when the days are longer and the storms blow in off the sea, but my people have learned to weather them, learned to work with the land. The harvest is hard and the winter harder, but for the first time in a long time we see the coming of the snows with our sheds stocked with food and laughter in our homes. For the first time in a long time, we face the night without fear._

_We fight the land for every inch, for every breath of life we take, and we've come through every battle, come through every challenge -- even the challenge of laying down our arms, of surrendering and looking to our once enemies as new allies. My people are changing, changing a little bit every day, and when I look at them, I hope they can see the pride in my eyes._

_My mother used to tell me stories when I was small, about men and women who rode on demonback, who tamed the sky and the earth and shared their dreams with creatures who then shared their life with their rider. Men and women who lived for hundreds of years with their companions, lending aid and wisdom to their people: both human and demonkind alike._

_Stories of a time when demons lived with man and man wasn't afraid of the dark._

_Stories that aren't just stories, anymore._

_I see the aging contentment on my father's face and I see my brother smiling, waiting for me. With the wind in my hair and the world wide all around me, I'm not scared. I am not afraid anymore._

_I don't need to run._

_I can fly._

[ ](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v170/Mithborien/Bigbang/mithborien_samdeanotp_endlessskies.jpg)


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